Rammohun Roy and the Making of Victorian Britain (Palgrave Studies in Cultural and Intellectual History)

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Series Editors Anthony J. La Vopa, North Carolina State University. Suzanne Marchand, Louisiana State University. Javed Majeed, Queen Mary, University of London. The Palgrave Studies in Cultural and Intellectual History series has three primary aims: to close divides between intellectual and cultural approaches, thus bringing them into mutually enriching interactions; to encourage interdisciplinarity in intellectual and cultural history; and to globalize the field, both in geographical scope and in subjects and methods. This series is open to work on a range of modes of intellectual inquiry, including social theory and the social sciences; the natural sciences; economic thought; literature; religion; gender and sexuality; philosophy; political and legal thought; psychology; and music and the arts. It encompasses not just North America but Africa, Asia, Eurasia, Europe, Latin America, and the Middle East. It includes both nationally focused studies and studies of intellectual and cultural exchanges between different nations and regions of the world, and encompasses research monographs, synthetic studies, edited collections, and broad works of reinterpretation. Regardless of methodology or geography, all books in the series are historical in the fundamental sense of undertaking rigorous contextual analysis.

P  P M: Indian Mobilities in the West, 1900–1947: Gender, Performance, Embodiment By Shompa Lahiri The Shelley-Byron Circle and the Idea of Europe By Paul Stock Culture and Hegemony in the Colonial Middle East By Yaseen Noorani Recovering Bishop Berkeley: Virtue and Society in the Anglo-Irish Context By Scott Breuninger The Reading of Russian Literature in China: A Moral Example and Manual of Practice By Mark Gamsa Rammohun Roy and the Making of Victorian Britain By Lynn Zastoupil Carl Gustav Jung: Avant-Garde Conservative (forthcoming) By Jay Sherry Law and Politics in British Colonial Thought: Transpositions of Empire (forthcoming) By Shaunnagh Dorsett and Ian Hunter, eds.

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Rammohun Roy and the Making of Victorian Britain



Frontispiece: Portrait of Rammohun Roy, 1822 (engraving), by Philippe Savignhac. Courtesy of Cornell University Library.


LYNN ZASTOUPIL



RAMMOHUN ROY AND THE MAKING OF VICTORIAN BRITAIN

RAMMOHUN ROY AND THE MAKING OF VICTORIAN BRITAIN

Copyright © Lynn Zastoupil, 2010. All rights reserved.

Where this book is distributed in the UK, Europe and the rest of the world, this is by Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries. ISBN: 978–0–230–61680–6 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Zastoupil, Lynn, 1953– Rammohun Roy and the making of Victorian Britain / by Lynn Zastoupil. p. cm.—(Palgrave studies in cultural and intellectual history) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978–0–230–61680–6 (hardback) 1. Rammohun Roy, Raja, 1772?–1833. 2. Rammohun Roy, Raja, 1772?–1833—Political and social views. 3. Statesmen—India—Biography. 4. Social reformers—India—Biography. 5. Unitarians—India—Biography. 6. Celebrities—Great Britain—Biography. 7. Bengal (India)—Biography. 8. Transnationalism—Case studies. 9. Great Britain—History—1714–1837. 10. Social reformers—Great Britain—History—19th century. I. Title. DS475.2.R18Z37 2009 954.03⬘1092—dc22 [B]

2009052984

A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library. Design by Newgen Imaging Systems (P) Ltd., Chennai, India. First edition: August 2010 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America.



First published in 2010 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN® in the United States—a division of St. Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.



IN MEMORY OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN ZASTOUPIL 1922–2007 AND ARTUR LÜCK 1920–2003



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List of Figures Acknowledgments

xi xiii

Introduction: The Celebrated Rammohun Roy

1

1 The Unitarians

9

2 Rammohun Roy, Thomas Jefferson, and the Bible

23

3 Rammohun Roy, Celebrity Unitarian

41

4 Slavery and Sati

57

5 Rammohun Roy and Early Victorian Feminism

73

6 Liberty of the Press

97

7 Free Trade and a Reformed Parliament

111

8 Provincializing England

129

9 Rammohun Roy, MP?

151

Epilogue: A Fitting Statue on College Green

163

Appendix A: Half a Christian?

167

Appendix B: Rammohun Roy’s Presentation Letter to the Duke of Sussex

173

Abbreviations

175

Notes

179

Works Cited

229

Index

245



Contents




Frontispiece: Profile likeness of Rammohun Roy by Philippe Savignhac (1822) 3.1 Profile likeness of Rammohun Roy by unknown artist (1824) 3.2 Full-length portrait of Rammohun Roy by H. P. Briggs (1832) 3.3 Profile likeness of Rammohun Roy by W. Annin and G. Smith (1828) 3.4 Frontal likeness of Rammohun Roy by J. W. Cook (1834) 3.5 Frontal portrait of Rammohun Roy by Rembrandt Peale (1833) 4.1 Engraving of sati from J. Peggs, India’s Cries to British Humanity, 2nd ed. (1830) 5.1 Two locks of Rammohun Roy’s hair Epilogue Figure 1: Statue of Rammohun Roy by Niranjan Pradhan, College Green, Bristol


iv 42 48 51 52 53 68 95 164


Figures




I have accumulated many debts over the past ten years. This project got off the ground thanks to a visiting professorship at the Kulturwissenschaftliches Forschungskolleg “Norm und Symbol” (SFB 485) of Konstanz University in 2000–2001. I am deeply grateful to Jürgen Osterhammel and Rudolf Schlögl for making it possible to develop my initial ideas in the inspiring environment of their seminar. A generous grant from the American Philosophical Society provided funds for a valuable research trip to Britain in 2007. Above all, Rhodes College has supported this project with abundant research funds and two sabbatical leaves, the second of which created a distraction-free year during which this book was completed. Many librarians, archivists, and curators have provided vital assistance. Kenan Padgett, interlibrary loan librarian at Rhodes College, constantly amazed me by obtaining rare volumes. Dr. David Wykes, director of Dr. Williams’s Library, and members of his staff were ever ready to help me find items in their wonderful collections, grant permission to cite or reproduce materials, and otherwise help me uncover Rammohun Roy’s relationship to Anglo-American Unitarians. Dr. Wykes redefined helpfulness by sharing his notes from the Joseph Tuckerman Papers at the Massachusetts Historical Society. Sue Killoran, fellow librarian of Harris Manchester College, Oxford, offered much kind help and provided some of the images of Rammohun reproduced here, doing so with good humor when the wonders of modern technology seemed to defeat me. Sheena Stoddard, curator of fine art at the Bristol City Museum and Art Gallery, and her assistant Julia Carver, helped me view—and graciously provided photographs of—locks of Rammohun Roy’s hair, his eyeglasses, and other materials in their collection. Vicky Holmes, archivist at Royal Holloway, University of London, and her assistants kindly aided me with a permissions request and in using the files of Bedford College; Elaine Grublin, reference librarian, and others at the Massachusetts Historical Society were likewise accommodating regarding the Joseph Tuckerman Papers. I am also indebted to the archivists, curators, librarians, and staff of Andover-Harvard Theological Library, Special Collections and Archives of the University of Birmingham Library, the Bodleian Library of Commonwealth and African Studies at Rhodes House, Bristol Record Office, the British Library, Cambridge University Library, Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections of Cornell University Library, Houghton Library of Harvard University, Liverpool Record Office, the National Archives, the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, and the Victoria and Albert Museum. I am grateful for the support of friends, colleagues, and others who lent their support to this project. For many years Martin and Zawahir Moir have been scholarly collaborators, gracious hosts, friendly critics, and even tour guides, organizing my first pilgrimage



Acknowledgments

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

to Rammohun Roy’s tomb. Michael Fisher was always willing to take time out to answer a question, be it reading a difficult manuscript or interpreting an obscure transliteration; on more than one occasion he offered to provide images from volumes held by Oberlin College. Michael Leslie shared his knowledge of early eighteenth-century British satire and offered generous assistance under the auspices of Rhodes College’s British Studies at Oxford program. Initial inspiration for this project derives from William Worger’s suggestion that I investigate the phenomenon of “the voyage in.” I thank Javed Majeed and Suzanne Marchand for encouraging me to publish this volume in their series, coedited with Anthony La Vopa. Brian Shaffer, Timothy Huebner, Jeffrey Cox, Douglas Peers, and Dane Kennedy have lent their ears and offered critical insights at crucial times. I am indebted to Rosemary and David Seton for their hospitality in London and their unfailing good cheer. Steve Poole provided invaluable introductions and other assistance on a research trip to Bristol. Heather Holt has undertaken countless tasks on my behalf, while Lynn Conlee and Robert Shatzer helped prepare for publication some of the images reproduced here. Peter Zastoupil assisted with the index. Finally, my editor, Chris Chappell, and his assistant, Sam Hasey, have displayed the patience of Job in bringing this project to the printed page. My wife, Margot, has endured for a very long time what she describes as “the third person in our marriage.” Only she knows how much this book owes to her. The South Asian Studies Program at the University of Iowa invited me to present material from this book in April 2005. I am grateful to Jeffrey Cox, Frederick Smith, Philip Lutgendorf and other members of the seminar for the invitation and critical comments. I also wish to thank the staff of the Nehru Centre in London for inviting me in 2007 to share some of my ideas with a very enthusiastic audience of Rammohun Roy admirers. Ani Sanyal helped arrange this presentation and was kind enough to share one of his documentary films on Rammohun Roy. I wish to thank the following for granting permission to reproduce images or texts: Harris Manchester College Library, Oxford for likenesses of Rammohun Roy by an unknown artist, by William Annin and George Smith, and by J. W. Cook (figures 3.1, 3.3, and 3.4); Bristol City Museum and Art Gallery and Bridgeman Art Library International for the portrait of Rammohun Roy by H. P. Briggs (figure 3.2); Bristol City Museum and Art Gallery and Bristol City Council for the photograph of locks of Rammohun Roy’s hair (figure 5.1); Peabody Essex Museum for the portrait of Rammohun Roy by Rembrandt Peale (figure 3.5); the trustees of Dr. Williams’s Library, London, for the text of Rammohun Roy’s letter to the duke of Sussex (Appendix B); the Massachusetts Historical Society for materials from the Joseph Tuckerman Papers; and Royal Holloway, University of London for materials from the Bedford College collections. I am also grateful to Cornell University Library for supplying the image of Rammohun Roy’s likeness by Philippe Savignhac that is reproduced here as the frontispiece. An earlier version of portions of chapters 2 and 3 appeared as “ ‘Notorious and Convicted Mutilators’: Rammohun Roy, Thomas Jefferson, and the Bible,” Journal of World History 20 (2009): 399–434. Some of the ideas in this book first appeared in “Defining Christians, Making Britons: Rammohun Roy and the Unitarians,” Victorian Studies 44 (2002): 215–43.



xiv

The Celebrated Rammohun Roy

On April 8, 1831, a turbaned Bengali brahman disembarked at Liverpool, limping because of a mishap in Cape Town. His party included an adopted son, several servants, and cows to provide milk during the voyage. Accompanying him as well was a friend, the sailor-turned-journalist James Sutherland, who sent back to Calcutta reports of their arrival.1 Indians had been turning up in Britain for some time, owing to a growing empire in the subcontinent. Lascars employed on ships, servants and slaves returning with their masters, merchants setting up shop in Britain, learned men hoping for academic work, envoys and supplicants seeking redress of grievances—numerous Muslims, Parsis, Hindus, and others had found their way to Britain in the two centuries before 1831. Thanks to the pioneering investigations of Rozina Visram and the exhaustive scholarship of Michael Fisher, we know much about these early visitors and immigrants.2 What set our Bengali apart, however, was his transnational celebrity, which led to a reception in Britain unlike that accorded previous Indians. This luminary was Rammohun Roy.3 Rammohun is known today as a founding figure of the modern Indian nation-state—“the father of modern India” as an earlier generation called him.4 He is renowned for embracing a Western-influenced modernity associated with the emergence of Indian nationalism. Social and religious reformer, education activist, pioneering journalist and Bengali prose writer, and critical admirer of the West, Rammohun and his interests reflect many currents of modern South Asian history. Less familiar is the fact that his passions intersected with the projects of reformers and humanitarians in Britain. Rational religion, liberty of the press, constitutional reform, free trade, modern education, the condition of women, and suppression of inhumane practices are causes that Rammohun shared with many Britons. These were causes shaping a new order in Britain, and those who most admired him were ushering in an age of reform. Recovering Rammohun’s significance for this modernization project is the aim of this book. His celebrity, as we shall see, is a mirror in which the making of Victorian Britain is reflected. Evidence of this fame is abundant and striking. From the moment he arrived, Rammohun was besieged by visitors and invitations, his social calendar was filled, and his whereabouts were publicized. In Liverpool he was out “morning, noon, and night” and overbooked himself.5 A train ride to Manchester was widely reported in local newspapers, as were the throngs of workers who met him there.6 The crowds in



Introduction

R AMMOHUN ROY AND VICTORIAN BRITAIN

Manchester were large enough to necessitate police intervention. Wherever he stopped on his journey to London, the inns were surrounded by gawkers.7 The details of his living arrangements in London were considered newsworthy.8 Once settled in the capital, Rammohun’s social engagements did not let up. He often had “two or three invitations to parties for every day in the week,” and carriages were lined up outside his door as visitors pressed to meet him.9 Many were disappointed. Thomas Macaulay waited in vain at one gathering until midnight, when he “went away in despair.”10 Not everyone was frustrated. Royalty enjoyed Rammohun’s company. King William invited the Bengali to sit in the royal pavilion at the opening of the new London Bridge in August 1831.11 Rammohun was also presented to the king on September 7, 1831, and the next day he sat among the foreign dignitaries at the coronation of William and Adelaide.12 The queen took an interest in him,13 as did William’s brothers. The archconservative duke of Cumberland introduced Rammohun to the House of Lords, which offended the Bengali’s friends.14 More palatable to them was Rammohun’s relationship with the black sheep of the royal family, the duke of Sussex. As we will see in chapter 3, the two shared liberal sentiments on religion and politics. The earl of Munster—William’s eldest son by the actress Dorothy Jordan—may have played a role in introducing Rammohun to these circles. As a young officer, George Fitzclarence had met Rammohun in Calcutta and published an early account of the Bengali. He was heard praising Rammohun after the Bengali arrived in London.15 Lesser notables shared the royal family’s interest. Rammohun watched Fanny Kemble perform from the duke of Devonshire’s box.16 Other Whig elites courted him, including the marquess of Lansdowne and countess of Cork, as chapter 3 explores. The soirees of the countess were not the only instances of lionizing that Rammohun experienced. A raft of people held lesser social gatherings where he was a guest of honor. Harriet Martineau, who detested the phenomenon, penned a critical account of the literary lionizing inflicted on her and Rammohun.17 Of a different mind was Kemble, who wrote of a flirtatious evening with Rammohun at a party hosted by Basil Montagu—the legal reformer and editor of Francis Bacon’s works—and his wife, Anna.18 Rammohun’s social obligations were extensive enough to alarm friends who were worried about the effect on his health.19 Some feared that his head was turned by all the attention.20 And there was plenty of attention. The press recorded Rammohun’s presence at various events. They took note of a Lords’ debate on the reform bill where Rammohun was seated near the throne.21 His presence at a reform debate in Commons—and “the most lively curiosity and interest” this announcement created in that house—was also newsworthy.22 A visit by “the celebrated Rajah Rammohun Roy” to the newly refurbished Beulah Spa in Norwood was duly publicized, along with the words that he inscribed in the visitors’ book.23 Accounts of literary or learned society meetings he attended mentioned Rammohun’s name among the notables present.24 At times, what he did or did not eat at festive dinners was also reported.25 His opinions were represented and misrepresented in print to the point that Rammohun asked the Times not to print any more such accounts.26 After his death, that newspaper caused a stir by refusing to print any more letters from individuals claiming to know Rammohun’s religious views.27 Those who could not see him in the flesh had resort to a popular likeness. A miniature portrait of Rammohun done in Calcutta and reproduced by Unitarians in 1823 and 1824 resurfaced upon his arrival in Britain28 (see frontispiece and figure 3.1). James Sutherland reported that while they were in Liverpool, “new impressions” of the Calcutta engraving were “exhibited in every print shop in the place.”29 Some periodicals splashed



2

3

lithographic reproductions of the portrait during Rammohun’s visit or illustrated their obituaries with it. These contained a facsimile of his signature, as had the Unitarian image.30 Other versions of the image sans the facsimile signature were produced: the British Museum collected one bearing Rammohun’s autograph signature.31 He may have signed other copies while in Britain. The duke of Sussex used the new impression as frontispiece to his copy of one of Rammohun’s volumes.32 The likeness was popular enough to be given new life by artists. A watercolor and pencil drawing based on the profile portrait were executed by unknown persons in 1832 or thereabouts.33 Shortly after Rammohun’s death, a Miss Howe produced two miniature watercolors after the original profile image.34 In 1841 J. C. Prichard reproduced the profile portrait in color as the frontispiece to a volume of the third edition of his Researches into the Physical History of Man.35 Shortly after Rammohun’s death, Unitarians published a new frontal portrait as well36 (see figure 3.4). Rammohun’s endorsement was no less eagerly sought after. Chapter 3 examines the Unitarians perfecting this strategy, setting the stage for later imitators. Those letters to the Times claiming to know the celebrity’s opinions are one example. Another was the use of works purportedly written by Rammohun, such as a satirical letter published in The Age lampooning Jewish emancipation and Indian immigration to Britain.37 Reformers tended to be more serious. In the unpublished papers of Frederick John Shore—Bengal civil servant and critic of colonial administration—is a draft letter to the editor of the India Gazette in which Shore transmits a dialogue supposedly found among Rammohun’s papers after his death. The dialogue addresses the advantages of making Bengali the language of government in Bengal. It expresses perfectly Shore’s views on using vernacular languages and scripts in colonial administration.38 Another instance of this unauthorized use of celebrity endorsement is an 1833 tract calling on the U. S. Congress to abolish slavery that the anonymous author closed by assuming the name of Rammohun Roy.39 Rammohun’s name could also be employed to create symbolic or fictive relationships. This was the case with the infant baptized in Rammohun’s presence and christened Thomas Rammohun Roy in his honor.40 This was also true of Thomas Medwin’s fictionalized recounting of his Indian career. In 1834 and 1842 the former captain recast the journal of his military service into tales of rescuing an Indian woman from sati, converting to Vedanta, and becoming a correspondent and disciple of “that excellent person Ram Mohun Roy.” Like his famous cousin, the poet Shelley, Medwin was attracted to Rammohun’s reputation as a Hindu reformer, which he used to validate negative views of popular Hinduism.41 Celebrities are often hounded by gossip and rumor. Rammohun was no exception. The son—Rajaram—he adopted and brought with him to Britain had set tongues wagging in Calcutta about a Muslim mistress.42 In Britain, there was talk of romantic involvement with English women, even a private marriage. As we will see in chapter 5, Lucy Aikin was linked to Rammohun in this fashion. The rumors animated Rammohun’s enemies back in Bengal.43 Interesting in this regard is the family that claims descent from Rammohun through a son born to an English woman from the Bristol area.44 Rammohun was also bedeviled by another celebrity woe—extortion. Sandford Arnot met Rammohun in Calcutta, where Arnot worked for James Silk Buckingham, editor of the Calcutta Journal. Like his radical employer, Arnot was deported from India in a crackdown on the press. It seems he carried with him to Britain one of the Ram



THE CELEBRATED R AMMOHUN ROY


Doss letters that Rammohun wrote during this phase of his anti-Trinitarian agitation.45 In London Arnot revived his working relationship with Buckingham, until a financial dispute led to an acrimonious break-up. In 1829 Arnot was employed by the Court of Directors to write a pamphlet smearing Buckingham, who was hitting his stride as a critic of the East India Company.46 Once in London, Rammohun employed Arnot as an assistant. This no doubt alienated Buckingham, who as chapters 6 and 7 demonstrate, was spreading Rammohun’s fame across Britain. Pressed for time and inundated with invitations and visitors’ cards, Rammohun needed a secretary.47 According to Arnot, he also required assistance writing in English, a service Arnot rendered first in Calcutta and then for two years in London. That assistance—if Arnot is to be believed—sometimes consisted of rendering into polished English Rammohun’s verbalized ideas, sometimes editing what Rammohun had drafted, and sometimes instructing Rammohun as he wrote out his thoughts. Several of Rammohun’s Calcutta productions were thus composed, as was nearly everything of importance attributed to Rammohun during his years in Britain.48 Arnot’s assertions, published after his employer had died, were hotly disputed. John Hare and Lant Carpenter challenged the idea that Arnot was anything more than an amanuensis.49 Carpenter was keen to preserve the legacy of someone widely recognized as a Unitarian convert and brilliant controversialist.50 Hare, with whom Rammohun had lived on Bedford Square, had another motive: exposing Arnot as an extortionist. Shortly before his death, Rammohun was approached by Arnot with “a pecuniary demand” accompanied by a threat to go public with his claims.51 After a conversation with Hare, H. H. Wilson relayed this news to India. Arnot had been Rammohun’s secretary, Wilson wrote, and then Arnot “importuned him for the payment of large arrears which he called arrears of salary, and threatened Ram Mohun, if not paid, to do what he has done since his death, claim as his own writing all that Ram Mohun published in England.”52 Arnot, as we will see later, belonged to an underworld of journalists, some of whom were literary blackmailers making life difficult for public figures. His extortion attempt was its own underhanded testimony to Rammohun’s celebrity. Other Britons paid their respects more kindly. Rammohun discussed religion and politics with Robert Owen, passed a week at Barham Court with the aging William Wilberforce, talked politics with James Mill, answered William Godwin’s request for information, and attended a Literary Fund meeting with Benjamin Disraeli.53 Rammohun also had the confidence of Lord Brougham, one of whose works he proposed to translate.54 In Liverpool he debated the merits of phrenology with J. G. Spurzheim.55 One of Spurzheim’s British disciples later wrote an analysis of the famed Bengali’s head, using Rammohun’s case to argue that brain size, not climate, determined intellectual achievement. This assessment of the source of Rammohun’s greatness had supporters in Britain and India.56 A more reputable scientific interest was shown by J. C. Prichard, who probably met Rammohun in Bristol. Prichard used the example of Rammohun and his servant (or associate),57 Ramratna Mukherjee, to support his monogenetic ethnology, which denied that different skin colors were proof of distinct racial origins. The two dark-skinned brahmans indicated that some variations could reflect climatic influences.58

*

*

*

What explains this fascination with a visitor from the periphery of the empire? Some who pursued him were celebrity-hounds eager to meet a famous man wearing the exotic



4

5

dress of the Bengali gentry.59 Rammohun was wearied by such as these.60 Most had serious motives, and they are the focus of this book. Agendas varied, of course, and close examinations of individual Britons will likely yield important insights. Chapter 9 is such a study of Jeremy Bentham’s interest in Rammohun. The following pages, however, will focus on three overlapping groups who admired the Bengali long before he set foot in England. Religion was on the minds of many who flocked to Rammohun. Not a few were orthodox Christians. Thomas Burgess, bishop of Salisbury and archfoe of Unitarianism, wished to discuss missionaries. William Scoresby, an evangelical Anglican clergyman, probed Rammohun about Unitarianism the day he landed in Liverpool. In Bristol, the Baptist John Foster and others quizzed Rammohun about his views of original sin and the resurrection.61 Skeptics such as Robert Owen were no less interested in what he had to say about religion.62 Not that any of these had an unwilling interlocutor. One person complained that Rammohun compelled “any one who might visit him to converse upon theological subjects.”63 The religiously minded were attracted because Rammohun was a renowned controversialist and apparent Unitarian convert. Chapter 2 examines how his Vedanta publications convinced many that Rammohun was something like a Luther of Hinduism. By 1820 he was famous on both sides of the Atlantic, and the word “celebrated” was soon as firmly attached to his name as was “venerable” to that of Bede.64 That year The Precepts of Jesus appeared, sparking a famous controversy with missionaries that changed, and enhanced, Rammohun’s reputation. Chapters 2 and 3 read that controversy in the neglected context of a long, bitter theological dispute in Britain regarding the Trinity. Rammohun was firmly in the anti-Trinitarian camp, and his mastery of Unitarian discourse transformed him in Western eyes from a Hindu reformer into a Christian theologian. The triangular circulation of heterodox individuals and texts between Britain, Bengal, and North America—and the presence of Unitarian communities in each—ensured that his was a transnational celebrity. Contributing to the phenomenon was the Unitarian practice of touting prominent individuals holding anti-Trinitarian views. Thomas Jefferson, as we shall see, almost gave them the opportunity. John Milton did so, in a posthumous tract discovered about the time that Rammohun’s Unitarian works were circulating in the Western world. Celebrity heterodoxy in other words was not unique to Rammohun. He was, however, one of its most striking examples—a trophy for Unitarians, as Ralph Waldo Emerson put it. Conversancy with the Bible was central here. Whether scripture supported the personal deity of Jesus or the doctrine of atonement was of intense interest to many Britons of the long eighteenth century. Visiting Paris in 1678, John Locke consulted old copies of the New Testament to see if they contained 1 John 5:7.65 By Rammohun’s time Unitarians were certain that Locke was one of them, and this verse was widely recognized as an interpolation. Debates about the Trinity still raged, however, and invariably ended with disputants unconvinced by their opponents. This led some to wish for an intelligent outsider to declare whether the Bible supported Trinitarian or Unitarian interpretations. The possibility that Rammohun was this umpire explains the urgent interest in his biblical exegeses. As chapter 3 reveals, Unitarians on both sides of the Atlantic rejoiced in the conviction that he had declared them victors. The fruits of this victory would prove short-lived. Victorians and Edwardians moved on to other issues, as the biographers of William J. Fox testified. To them, Fox was a social reformer and journalist who campaigned against the Corn Laws, advocated equality for women, supported a national theater, and promoted the elevation of the working classes. The young Fox





who fiercely advocated Unitarianism and admired Rammohun Roy was less interesting, and they gave short shrift to his published sermons. The Apostle John an Unitarian, for instance, was dismissed with the curt comment: “The tract is a good specimen of what would now be regarded as an antiquated method of controversy.”66 The following pages will demonstrate that Rammohun was famous because he wrote works very much in the vein of The Apostle John an Unitarian. His celebrity is a reminder that the “antiquated” age of Locke and Unitarian controversy endured into the nineteenth century. There was more to Unitarianism than rationalist theology. Chapter 1 surveys the role of Rational Dissenters as social reformers, civic leaders, and political activists. Their influence was out of all proportion to their numbers, as they campaigned for freedom of conscience and expression, helped dismantle the confessional state, and established close ties to Whig leaders. In the eyes of some, more a political than a religious sect, Unitarians held high profile positions as lobbyists, political advisers, mayors and councilors, and members of parliament. This prominence ensured that Rammohun’s endorsement of their views had repercussions beyond theology. The ease with which he moved in elite Whig circles, examined in chapter 3, is one example. Another is the suggestion that Rammohun stand for parliament. As the final chapter indicates, imagining a Bengali MP was a project connected to Unitarianism in multiple ways. The causes Unitarians supported were shared by others. Britons supporting liberty of the press, free trade, and parliamentary reform comprise the second major group of Rammohun’s admirers. Chapters 6 and 7 use the career of James Silk Buckingham to explain how the Bengali reformer became a household name in reform circles. With a knack for turning causes into career opportunities, Buckingham made an improbable journey from smuggler-sailor to member of parliament. He developed ties with influential politicians and merchants in Calcutta, London, and provincial towns across Britain. As radical journalist and then popular lecturer, Buckingham introduced Rammohun’s progressive political views to Whigs and radical reformers. In turn these groups, as we shall see, used the famous Bengali to advance their own agendas. As with his religious convictions, Rammohun’s political opinions interested people across the spectrum. Tories and defenders of the East India Company were keen to engage him in conversation or claim him for their cause. Their contested readings of Rammohun’s views on Indian administration are taken up in chapter 7. Conservatives and reformer alike found compelling Rammohun’s mastery of British political culture. Sir Edward Hyde East was chastened for voting against the reform bill, but impressed enough by Rammohun’s arguments to invite the Bengali to his home.67 Already in 1817 George Fitzclarence was struck by Rammohun’s familiarity with British politics, especially Whig arguments against a standing army. What intrigued Fitzclarence in Calcutta disappointed Henry Crabb Robinson in London. Hoping to learn something about India at a soiree, Robinson discovered that the guest of honor was all too versed in European affairs: “[Rammohun] talks English very well—Better than most foreigners[.] Unfortunately he talked on European politics so that he did not in his conversation show any Oriental sentiment or opinion. Not a word that might not have been said by a European.”68 Lord Ellenborough found this intolerable in an Indian he believed coached by others. “They have given him [Rammohun] radical notions on English affairs,” he wrote in an 1831 diary entry, “which it is ridiculous in him to talk about, & when he began I took my leave. He is great for an Indian, I dare say, but he would be nothing particular as an European.”69



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The Tory and former president of the Board of Control was in a small minority. Facility with Western ideas—and the stamina to spend hours at social gatherings demonstrating it70 —was a major reason that Rammohun was the lion of the season, as one contemporary put it.71 Other factors were at play. Women form the third significant group of Rammohun’s admirers. In Manchester, crowds of female workers sought to embrace or shake hands with him.72 Chapter 5 explores the middle-class women—many of them Unitarians—who were no less enamored. Crucial here were the overlapping campaigns against slavery and sati, particularly the explicit appeals to women discussed in chapter 4. These appeals encouraged women to take on new public and even political roles. They also brought attention to Rammohun as a critic of widow burning who disputed religious sanctions for the practice and highlighted socioeconomic conditions that encouraged it. This analysis and the attraction it held for early feminists is taken up in chapter 5.

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Several structural developments made it possible for a traditionally educated Bengali to become a celebrity on three continents. One was the transition to a print-based public arena in colonial India. C. A. Bayly has demonstrated that a precolonial world of circulating manuscripts and oral disputations gave way in nineteenth-century India to the print culture already shaping public discussion in the West. Lithography assisted this process by simplifying the printing of newspapers and books in the many scripts of India.73 Rammohun illuminates the transition. Chapter 2 traces his emergence as a religious controversialist skilled in conventional forms of debate but open to the new possibilities of print. Attacked for challenging religious orthodoxy, Rammohun responded to critics in speech and in print.74 He met some opponents in face-to-face debates in private homes, and a few critics addressed him in circulating manuscripts.75 But he and the defenders of sanatana dharma conducted much of their dispute on the printed page. Rammohun testified to this, writing that the printed page allowed him to oppose “the advocates of idolatry with still greater boldness.” Availing myself of the art of printing now established in India, I published various works and pamphlets against their errors, in the native and foreign languages. This raised such a feeling against me that I was at last deserted by every person except two or three Scotch friends.76

Compensation for isolation at home came in the form of adulation outside India. Sending his English-language Vedanta essays abroad, as chapter 2 demonstrates, was a calculated effort to win support overseas that paid handsome dividends. It created a new readership and set him on the path to international fame. Had he remained wedded to circulating manuscripts and oral debates, this could scarcely have happened. Contemporary journalism practices are also important to this story. Early nineteenth-century periodicals were mostly one-man shows. Most editor-proprietors employed few assistants and even fewer reporters. The universal practice was to supplement original copy—editorials or letters from correspondents—with recycled material from other sources. News, reviews, scandal, gossip, and other types of information thus quickly circulated from one periodical to another. This is how the phrase “the celebrated Rammohun Roy” became a cliché on both sides of the Atlantic.77





Also vital to Rammohun’s transnational renown were networks of communication fashioned by empire. Ann Laura Stoler and Frederick Cooper identify the circulation of people, texts, and ideas as a central feature of modern empires. The routes traversed were often more than a simple circuit between metropole and colony. Information and people crossed multiple national and imperial boundaries with ease and frequency.78 Rammohun’s fame exemplifies this. By the early 1820s he was known on three continents because of the transmission of texts by and about him that followed a triangular circuit linking Bengal, Europe, and North America. As chapter 2 explains, his first English pamphlet—Translation of an Abridgment of the Vedant (1816)—was republished in extracts or its entirety in at least four different venues in Britain and Germany within a year of its initial release. Reviews and commentaries in sundry periodicals followed. Three of his subsequent Vedanta pamphlets tell a similar tale. Originally published in Calcutta in 1816–1817, copies of each made their way to North America, Britain, and most likely France and Germany too. In 1818 and 1819 they were favorably reviewed in several London journals and in the New York–based North American Review. A copy of the last review circulated back to Calcutta, where Buckingham reprinted it in the Calcutta Journal. An advertisement in the Revue Encyclopédique indicates that the three Calcutta pamphlets received favorable attention at this time in France.79 The process was repeated with Rammohun’s Unitarian and anti-sati tracts. Missionaries were involved here, as they were with the diffusion of his Vedanta pamphlets. Jeffrey Cox reminds us that the development of a British missionary movement after 1700 is part of the story of empire, even though the relationship between the two was complex and conflicted.80 This movement had its own motives and methods for circulating information concerning Rammohun among Western audiences. As chapters 4 and 5 suggest, this was most telling in the domestic mobilization effort against sati and the special appeal to women to rescue their sisters overseas. Also important was the propaganda value of a celebrity convert, which led first Baptists and then Unitarians to publicize Rammohun’s interest in Christianity. The pages that follow will make apparent why Unitarians were instrumental in spreading Rammohun’s name among the religiously minded. Although less interested in institutional missionary work than other denominations, Unitarians were adept at diffusing their version of Christianity abroad, as the examples of Thomas Jefferson and Rammohun demonstrate. Their success did not cause the orthodox to abandon interest. The Missionary Register continued to mention Rammohun long after it became obvious that he would never convert to orthodox Christianity.81 Famous for his religiosity, Rammohun remained of interest to transatlantic audiences awakened to possibilities of propagating the gospels overseas. The modern missionary movement and the global networks it created are factors in the story of how this Bengali became a transnational celebrity.



8

The Unitarians

The contribution of Unitarianism to modern British society is well known. Unitarians were active first in the fight for liberty of conscience and later for dismantling the confessional state. In the course of this struggle most Unitarians came to champion freedom of the press, the civil rights of religious minorities, and, in the Victorian era, a more secular society. The denomination was also prone to political and social radicalism. Many members supported the colonists during the American war of independence, and prominent Unitarians were imprisoned or hounded out of Britain during the French Revolution. Others opposed slavery, supported the animal rights movement, or promoted female education when these causes were yet unpopular. Unitarians also figure large in the making of provincial middle-class culture. In the 1770s and 1780s Unitarians were members of a new merchant-gentry elite that dominated towns such as Hull, Leeds, and Wakefield. Early in the next century they wielded considerable economic power in cities such as Liverpool, Bristol, and Manchester, where they were conspicuous for civic leadership and political influence. Even unsympathetic scholarship attributes great influence to the denomination. In challenging conventional interpretations of the 1832 Reform Act, J. C. D. Clark offers a back-handed compliment to the Unitarians. The great age of reform, he argues, did not result from underlying socioeconomic and political pressures associated with emergent industrialism and parliamentary corruption. Instead, heterodox thinkers paved the way for the English revolution of 1828–1832 by challenging the theological underpinnings of the established order. According to Clark, the ideas and values holding English society together were undermined by radicals espousing various strands of anti-Trinitarianism. Among the latter were John Locke, Joseph Priestley, and Richard Price.1 Other religious groups made similar contributions to British society in this period. Quakers, for instance, were pioneers in the antislavery movement, important social reformers, early advocates of women’s equality, and prominent members of the provincial business class. Yet, the Unitarian contribution is noteworthy. The denomination wielded an influence disproportionate to its numbers. The 1851 religious census revealed some 250 Unitarian chapels in England and Wales, with barely 50,000 congregants. For comparison, records from over 34,000 religious buildings were returned, listing some 7.2 million worshippers; of these 52 percent were Anglicans and the remainder non-Anglicans.2 In England proper, Unitarians thus represented a mere 0.2 percent of



Chapter 1


the total population.3 Although this was late in the season for Unitarianism, it is doubtful that in its heyday the denomination represented a substantially larger percentage of the church-going public.4 A distinguishing mark of Unitarianism was its indeterminate, shifting nature. The very name “Unitarian” defies easy definition. Hostile commentators cite the traditional articles of faith that Unitarians commonly rejected, such as the divinity of Jesus and the doctrines of atonement and eternal punishment. Sympathetic observers list the denomination’s leading principles, including freedom of conscience, unrestricted use of reason in religion, and a spirit of tolerance. Both attempts at definition are useful. For instance, while true, the charge of anti-Trinitarianism leveled at the Unitarians masks important doctrinal differences regarding the nature and mission of Jesus. Such differences could be accommodated because the Unitarian “movement has throughout its whole course strenuously resisted any attempt at dogmatic fixity, has made reason its ultimate court of appeal, and has normally been hospitable to changes and restatements in its forms of thought.”5 This flexibility drove orthodox opponents mad. To them, Unitarianism was a halfway house on the road to heresy, atheism, or infidelity, and its proponents “followers of Mahomet, Jews, Atheists, Anti-Christs, children of the devil,” and so on.6 There was a small germ of truth in some of these epithets. Unitarians were open to other religions. In 1682 two London anti-Trinitarians presented an address to a Moroccan emissary, hoping “to foster friendly relations between Unitarians and Mohammedans,” and nineteenth-century Muslim visitors often attended Unitarian chapel services.7 By the latter period some congregations drew Jewish visitors and converts, and key Unitarians supported the early Jewish emancipation campaigns.8 William J. Fox lectured in 1818 that Christianity was a subset of a worldwide system of Unitarianism that included Jews, Muslims, and philosophers in the ancient world and across Asia.9 The charge of harboring infidels and subversives was not completely off-target either. Radical millenarians prophesying restoration of the Jewish homeland as a prelude to revolution at home found inspiration in Unitarian ideas and homes in Unitarian chapels at the turn of the nineteenth century. In the turbulent years after 1815, Spencean ultraradicals sought refuge from prosecution by taking out licenses as Unitarian chapels.10 Critics failed, however, to see a fundamental principle at work. Unitarianism was a gathering place for the spiritually curious, homeless, or persecuted. It might be considered a big tent capable of accommodating unconventional, unpopular, or minority religious opinions. At times, the tent could be used for shelter by political revolutionaries employing the language of radical Christian discourse.11 This was possible because, as John Seed notes, most Unitarians believed not in “any specific theological tenets but [in] absolute doctrinal individualism,” that is, in “the right of every individual to judge for himself in matters of religion.”12 They prided themselves on the heterogeneous nature of their congregations. William J. Fox put it this way in 1830: “Let sects enforce uniformity, and chain the mouths and the minds of their members—it is for Unitarians to cherish independence of thought by the free expression of individual opinions.”13 As another chimed in, “[t]here is more individuality of mind . . . and therefore more diversity of opinion among us than in any other denomination.”14 Thanks to this attitude, Unitarianism became Christianity’s permeable boundary zone, a religious space that individuals holding divergent beliefs might briefly enter or permanently occupy while claiming a Christian identity, however contested that identity might be. The import of this becomes clear with Rammohun Roy. As the next chapters demonstrate, during the 1820s many Anglo-Americans thought he had converted to Christianity because he embraced Unitarianism. This interpretation has its doubters.



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Some argue that Rammohun remained always a Hindu reformer, others that his was but a brief flirtation with Unitarian Christianity. The focus here will be on the fluid nature of Unitarian identity and its function as a permeable border. Rammohun’s adoption of that identity need not entail rejection of his rational Hinduism nor need it be permanent for us to join contemporaries in believing that he too found Unitarianism a congenial resting place.15 That resting place had a political significance. Unitarians were at the forefront in dismantling the confessional state; they had a long history of social, cultural, and political influence in provincial towns; and they enjoyed the confidence of Whig leaders. This meant that his apparent conversion provided Rammohun with an entry point into an established world of (mostly) respected middle-class reformers. The boundary he crossed, in other words, was political as well as religious. This is made plain by the fact that some Britons thought Rammohun a suitable candidate for parliament. This imagining of a turban-wearing Bengali MP makes perfect sense if one keeps in mind the Unitarian contribution to the making of modern Britain and Rammohun’s embrace of that fluid entity called Unitarianism. Rammohun’s extraordinary reception in Britain is also more intelligible in the light of his crossover into British Christianity’s nebulous borderlands. Many of those most eager to meet him were interested in his views on Christianity. This intense interest in Rammohun’s personal theology resulted from his controversy with Joshua Marshman. Such debates had become a familiar part of the intellectual landscape of Britain since the late seventeenth century. Now, Britons were fascinated by the spectacle of an Indian exegete making what many—and not just Unitarians—believed to be a skillful case against the Trinity, employing both familiar and new arguments. Adding to their fascination was the idea that Rammohun was a neutral umpire from outside Christianity who could adjudicate bitter disputes about the meaning of the Bible. In this regard, Rammohun’s fame sheds fresh light on British religion in the era of the Reform Act. If the future belonged to evangelicalism both in church and chapel, Rational Dissent was not yet a spent force. And, if secular tendencies were destined to eclipse both, religious controversies remained an important feature of British intellectual life and those skilled in the genre still lauded.

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The early history of Unitarianism is not our concern here.16 Heterodox developments in Britain during the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries need not detain us long either. Arminian, Socinian, Arian, and Unitarian views flourished then, and the sheer diversity of ideas about such matters as the divinity of Jesus, original sin, eternal punishment, and atonement, created an intellectual ferment that made possible the openly Unitarian congregations that appeared after 1774. Vital during this formative phase were developments in biblical criticism and religious rationalism that became central features of Rational Dissent and its most lasting offshoot, Unitarianism.17 A defining feature of the Unitarians—freedom of conscience—can likewise be traced to this earlier period, as is the case with such corollaries as tolerance of religious diversity, opposition to state control of religion, and respect for those who doubt or change their religious opinions.18 The focus in this chapter is on a later period. The emergence and evolution of an organized British Unitarian movement in the half-century after 1774 needs to be traced if we are to understand how a colonial outsider became a transnational celebrity with access to the highest ranks of British society and politics. For Rammohun’s fame is



THE UNITARIANS


part of a larger story about revolutionary changes in religion and politics that mark the transition to the Victorian era. Most accounts date the appearance of a permanent Unitarian organization in Britain to 1774, when Theophilus Lindsey opened the Essex Street Chapel in London. Like many of his first congregants, Lindsey was a refugee from the Church of England. He was part of a Cambridge rationalist tradition and had developed serious doubts about the Trinity during the 1760s. Convinced by a close reading of the Bible of the humanity of Jesus, Lindsey resigned his vicarage in 1773 and opened his avowedly Unitarian chapel in Essex Street the next year. “Widely known as a ‘Unitarian Christian,’ ” Lindsey’s success at defying laws designed to punish anti-Trinitarian views—particularly the 1689 Toleration and 1698 Blasphemy Acts—galvanized others.19 Among those emboldened was Joseph Priestley,20 who soon became the dominant figure in the movement. Priestley’s journey through the varieties of heterodoxy is indicative of a larger pattern of development among early Unitarians. Raised an orthodox Calvinist in the Independent tradition, he adopted Arian views while attending the Dissenting academy at Daventry. During the 1750s a careful reading of the Bible led him to reject the doctrine of atonement and develop critical views on St. Paul. From 1761 to 1767, Priestley was a tutor at Warrington academy, where heterodoxy reigned supreme. He then spent six years as minister of the influential Mill Hill Chapel in Leeds. During this period Priestley adopted views regarding the humanity of Jesus and the unity of God, associated then with Socinianism, but which he would popularize under the rubric of Unitarianism. In Leeds, he began publishing the influential religious tracts that transformed him into the most famous anti-Trinitarian advocate of the age. He also published political pamphlets siding with North American colonists and delineating the case for civil liberty for Dissenters. His talent for political writing led to Priestley’s next change of address. On the recommendation of his Rational Dissenter friend, Richard Price, Priestley served the earl of Shelburne as librarian and literary companion from 1773 to 1780. This gained him access to the world of high politics and London society. In London, Priestley regularly attended the Essex Street Chapel and was a frequent dinner guest at the Lindsey home. He now began to promote the new name of Unitarian that Lindsey had adopted. After being called to the ministry at the New Meeting House in Birmingham in 1780, Priestley emerged as the intellectual voice of what had become a new denomination, publishing a series of important Unitarian works. He also engaged in an eight-year theological controversy with Samuel Horsley. But the events of the 1790s ended Priestley’s career in Britain and nearly destroyed his fledgling denomination. Unitarians were champions of liberty and supported the American and French revolutions. Benjamin Franklin had intimate contact with Priestley, Lindsey, and Price, and sympathy for the French revolutionaries, even Napoleon, ran strong in Unitarian households. Most Unitarians were also antiwar throughout the entire two decades of conflict with France.21 As British fears of revolution at home escalated into a frenzy of anti-Jacobinism, Unitarians were singled out as objects of public fury and government prosecution. In 1791 a Birmingham mob out to defend “Church and King” burned Priestley’s chapel and home, as well as other Unitarian buildings. Priestley was also burned in effigy many times, and he became the object of vicious cartoons and hate mail. After a brief spell in London, he emigrated to America in 1794. Other Unitarians were caught up in the hysteria as well. Several were jailed or transported for their unpopular political views. A few joined Priestley in exile. 22 Thomas Belsham assumed leadership of the denomination after Priestley’s departure. Belsham, son of an Independent minister, had trained to follow his father’s calling before



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converting to Unitarianism. Encouraged by Priestley and Lindsey, Belsham formed the Unitarian Book Society in 1791 with the goal of promoting Unitarianism—which he defined as belief in “the simple humanity of Jesus Christ”—through the publication and distribution of books. A subsidiary purpose was to create a national network of support.23 Given the climate of opinion, this was crucial and the society spawned regional and local organizations. When Priestley left for America, Belsham succeeded him at his Hackney chapel. Eleven years later, Belsham was called to Lindsey’s pulpit, when the latter died. As minister of the prestigious Essex Street congregation, Belsham became the most visible representative of Unitarianism until his death in 1829. His most important work was editing a revised version of the New Testament, published by the Unitarian Book Society in 1808. The New Testament, in an Improved Version, as the next chapter explores, used recent biblical scholarship to call into question key passages. Although Belsham deviated from Unitarian tradition in wishing to exclude Arians, his leadership and organizational abilities were vital to Unitarianism’s resurgence after the dark days of Pitt’s repressions.24 Others assisted in that resurgence. One was Robert Aspland, a General Baptist convert to Unitarianism. Aspland succeeded Belsham at Hackney, where he ministered to Priestley’s former congregation for over forty years. Son of a village shopkeeper, Aspland supported missionary outreach to the lower classes. This was true of other Baptists and Methodists who found their way to Unitarian chapels. Unitarianism, as we shall shortly see, was dominated by prosperous merchants and professionals. This group favored the philosophical discourse of Price and Priestley over the itinerant preaching of George Whitefield and John Wesley. The Unitarian Book Society catered to their views. Concerned to cast a broader net, Aspland joined with David Eaton—shoemaker, part-time minister, and Baptist-turned-Unitarian—and others in forming the Unitarian Fund in 1806. Stealing a chapter from the Methodists, the Fund hired popular ministers to traverse the country preaching to lower-class audiences. The most important of these was Richard Wright, another convert from the ranks of General Baptist ministers.25 Aspland is also important in the history of Unitarian journalism. The growth of the British religious periodical press after 1760 gave rise to Priestley’s Theological Repository, perhaps the “first scholarly journal for speculative theology” in the land. It ran in two series (1769–1771 and 1784–1788).26 Other Unitarian journals soon appeared. One was founded and edited by William Vidler, a stone mason whose religious odyssey included stops at Congregationalism, Particular Baptism, Universalism, and Unitarianism. Besides stints as a minister and bookseller, Vidler edited the Universalist’s Miscellany, which, after converting to Unitarianism, he renamed the Universal Theological Magazine. Aspland purchased the magazine from Vidler and in 1806 began publishing it as the Monthly Repository of Theology and General Literature. Over the next twenty-one years, Aspland’s journal provided Unitarians with news and information regarding the denomination, most of which was supplied by subscribers. It offered learned articles on doctrinal matters, religious history, and theological controversies. The Monthly Repository also printed miscellaneous essays on politics, literature, and foreign affairs. As we shall see, British Unitarians came to know of Rammohun Roy in its pages. From 1827 to 1831, the journal was edited by William J. Fox on behalf of the British and Foreign Unitarian Association. In 1832 Fox purchased the Monthly Repository and transformed it into a general review. Aspland, meanwhile, continued producing another Unitarian journal— the Christian Reformer—that was aimed at lower-class audiences. He edited this journal from 1815 until shortly before his death in 1845. After Fox began appealing to nonsectarian audiences in 1832, Aspland’s Christian Reformer replaced his former journal as the leading Unitarian periodical.27



THE UNITARIANS


Aspland and Fox did more than edit important journals. Below we will see that Aspland was a civil rights activist who played a significant role in the campaign to repeal the Test and Corporation Acts. Fox emerged in the post-Napoleonic wars period as the denomination’s most popular preacher and writer. A convert from humble Independent origins, Fox’s oratory skills earned him fame both within and outside the ranks of Unitarians, as did his defense of the principles of free speech and religious toleration. In 1825 Fox helped bring into being the British and Foreign Unitarian Association, an amalgamation of the Unitarian Book Society, the Unitarian Fund, and other organizations. He too became active in politics, first on behalf of Unitarians, and later with an eye on other issues. His fame as one of the Anti-Corn Law League’s most popular lecturers helped him in 1847 win election to parliament, where he sat for most of the next fifteen years. But for a scandal surrounding his unhappy marriage and subsequent affair with Eliza Flower, Fox would have become Unitarianism’s most important figure after Priestley.28 The denominational backgrounds of key figures such as Lindsey, Priestley, Belsham, and Aspland testify to the diverse nature of Unitarianism. A similar picture emerges when one looks at entire congregations and ordinary congregants. Most Unitarian congregations began their history as English Presbyterians, but some drifted over from the General Baptists. There were also isolated cases of Methodist congregations moving en masse to Unitarianism, and there was that one notable London congregation of ex-Anglicans. Individuals were attracted to the movement from almost all Protestant denominations.29 What held this diverse group together was a fundamental respect for freedom of conscience. Most of them likely doubted or denied the divinity and atonement of Jesus, the ideas of original sin and eternal punishment, and other features of orthodox Christianity. But their diverse sectarian origins, and the long history of dissident views in British Protestantism, led to considerable differences of theological opinion. After the 1719 Salters’ Hall conference, the right of individuals to interpret the Bible according to their own conscience became a defining feature of British Dissent, and the Unitarians openly embodied this.30 Opposed to creeds and doctrinal uniformity, the Unitarians were defined by a strong sense of “religious individualism” that resulted in heterogeneous congregations.31 One critic adverted early on to the phenomenon, complaining in 1732 how some of their ministers admit all sorts of persons that will but say they are Christians into their communion, be they Arminians, Calvinists, Freethinkers, Arians, or Socinians, it is all one to them, and their pulpits too are ready to receive ministers of the same make.32

The Unitarians of a later day were no less tolerant and diverse. In an age of statesponsored religion, their congregations served as safe-havens for disparate groups and individuals, including “[r]efugees from Methodism, radical Baptist groups, isolated Jewish families, small groups of ‘Free-thinking Christians’ and other religious dissidents.” This led William Wilberforce to lament that, because it had no fixed doctrines, Unitarianism was in effect a resting place for all kinds of heresy.33 The Presbyterian origins of the movement explain the regional pattern of Unitarianism and the social composition of most congregations. From the start, Presbyterianism flourished in market towns, especially in the midlands and north England, and there was a clear connection to the cloth trade, where traditions of religious dissent extended back to the Lollards. While weavers, artisans, wool-combers, and others from the lower classes became Presbyterians, most early eighteenth-century congregations were dominated by



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wealthy merchants, who provided funds and managed affairs.34 This pattern was more pronounced by Priestley’s day, as gentry membership dwindled and the PresbyterianUnitarians failed to keep pace with the evangelicalism that was sweeping the lower classes into other denominations. By the early nineteenth century, the dearth of working-class congregants in many Unitarian chapels was as noteworthy as was the dominating role played by prosperous merchants, bankers, and professionals.35 The general impression, in short, is of a wealthy, middle-class denomination.36 This needs to be qualified. There was a lower-class strand of British Unitarianism dating back to its earliest days. John Biddle, the “Father of English Unitarianism,” was born in 1615 or 1616 to “a tailor of moderate means.”37 In the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, large proportions of many Presbyterian congregations were tailors, shoemakers, and weavers; and impoverished weavers, along with unskilled laborers, continued to comprise a significant proportion of some Unitarian congregations in the 1830s.38 Thanks to the Unitarian Fund and Richard Wright, there were a few predominantly working-class congregations in the early nineteenth century. Popular radicalism from the age of Paine through that of the Chartists had a Unitarian dimension as well. Millenarian philosemites exemplified this, as did Robert Wedderburn, the mulatto sailor, tailor, Unitarian minister, and Spencean ultraradical.39 In addition, Unitarianism was notably lacking in appeal to members of the industrial bourgeoisie. Despite the growth of a large class of manufacturers, often in areas of traditional Presbyterian-Unitarian strength, the denomination attracted limited support from this important new economic group. Although there were prominent Unitarian factory owners (particularly in Manchester), more typical of the denomination’s elite in the late eighteenth or early nineteenth century were merchants, bankers, and professionals.40 The most influential Unitarians were clearly “old” bourgeoisie flourishing in provincial market towns as had their Presbyterian forerunners. Their influence extended beyond the walls of their chapels, as they helped shape an emerging middle-class culture during the crucial period 1770–1850. A complex convergence of religious, socioeconomic, and political factors explains this larger influence. Unitarians contributed to the making of middle-class attitudes in multiple ways. They opposed Puritan asceticism with a justification of worldly success and evangelical otherworldliness with the idea of promoting social improvement. The virtuous Christian, Unitarians believed, prospered in this world because divine providence rewarded frugality, hard work, and the application of reason to the problems facing humans.41 Their faith in God-given reason encompassed science and instrumental reason. The academies that Unitarians attended encouraged a scientific temper. Some, such as Priestley, made distinguished contributions to scientific knowledge. Others were simply noteworthy for promoting science in the pulpit or pursuing it as an avocation or profession.42 A good example of the latter is Dr. John Aikin, son of a Warrington academy tutor and student of Priestley. An avid botanist, Aikin practiced and tutored in medicine, as well as authored popular books on various subjects. He also edited the Monthly Magazine, which, during the 1790s, became the most widely circulated periodical in Britain by serving as the national voice of middle-class Dissenters. The original purpose of the magazine was to disseminate information about advances in science and the arts; this concern for useful knowledge led Aikin to support reading rooms for the benefit of the lower classes.43 Aikin remained a part of the inner circle of his old tutor, who provided theological justification for such secular intellectual pursuits. “Christ came ‘to bless mankind,’ ” Priestley proclaimed. This meant that Christianity was “a means to an



THE UNITARIANS


end; and therefore, if the great end of it, namely the reformation and virtue of man be, in fact, attained by another means, the benevolent author of it will not be offended.”44 Priestley voiced here a growing sense of duty among Rational Dissenters to change their world. The nineteenth-century minister and social reformer Henry Solly phrased it this way: Unitarians were drawn to “social, educational, literary, municipal and civic work” because of their “deep convictions as to the duty of helping to cause the will of God to be ‘done on earth as it is in heaven’, and not merely to ‘save men’s souls.’ ”45 Fortified with this perspective, Unitarians became civic activists. They saw education and the progress of knowledge as vital to their goals and pursued these with the same enthusiasm as did evangelicals the conversion of lost souls. They took the lead in founding libraries, literary, scientific, and philosophical societies, art institutions, statistical societies, and mechanics institutes and reading rooms. This civic spirit distinguished Unitarians and brought them considerable renown in many provincial towns.46 A form of “symbolic capital,”47 this local fame was a crucial factor in their political influence, as will be discussed shortly. Another way that Unitarians helped shaped middle-class culture is perhaps the most obvious. They were firm advocates of individual liberty. This was rooted in their conviction—shared broadly with many other Protestants—that every individual should be free to follow his or her own religious conscience. “Religious liberty,” William J. Fox lectured, “is a civil right; to assert it is a Christian duty.”48 It also derived from the particular history of Unitarian struggles against persecution and discrimination. Rational Dissenters moved easily from promoting freedom of conscience to supporting personal liberty in the larger public sphere. Long opposed to state-sanctioned theology, they came to challenge government restrictions on political and economic activities. Laissez-faire principles came naturally to middle-class Unitarians who were already convinced that rational individuals need obey nothing but what they were convinced was true. In this sense, Seed notes, their congregations were islands of independence where a new public sphere was being forged, a space where free individuals could pursue their rational selfinterest without concern for government control, patronage, or persecution.49 The printed page was an essential feature of this new public sphere and Unitarians made two vital contributions in this area. First of all, they championed a free exchange of ideas, even during dangerous times. Lindsey, for example, helped see Thomas Paine’s Rights of Man into print in 1791–1792.50 In the turbulent postwar years, when a furious battle took place between an ultraradical plebian press and the government, Unitarians were involved. Some of those in journalism’s front lines were Unitarians, had temporarily embraced that identity, or thought it a refuge against prosecution. Among these were William Hone, Richard Carlile, and Robert Wedderburn. Chapter 8 examines their cases and the varying degrees of support each drew from the Unitarian community while on trial for blasphemous libel during the period 1817–1820. William J. Fox eloquently expressed the classic Unitarian view in a published sermon on Carlile’s case. He reminded Unitarians of their own history of persecution and cautioned against tolerating it in this instance, no matter how repugnant Carlile’s deistic views might be. Admit the principle of Persecution, and where will it stop? Allow it to Atheism even, and it will advance to Deism; allow it to Deism, and it will advance to heresy; and what is heresy? There is no medium in principle between the liberty of all, and the tyranny of a particular sect. Christians, you kindle a flame in which yourselves may perish.



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Anticipating J. S. Mill’s argument in On Liberty, Fox insisted public debate was the best response to objectionable ideas. “If Deists will listen to you, persuade them; if they will reason, argue with them; if they write and publish, reply to them; if they misrepresent, expose them; but in the name of Christ, do not persecute them, do not abet or sanction their persecution.” Religion, like commerce, Fox added, was something best left free of government interference. The surest way to advance either was “simply, ‘Let it alone.’ ”51 Unitarians also helped fashion the new public sphere through their involvement in provincial newspapers. In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, these papers underwent a great transformation. Printer-owners recycling London news were replaced by journalist-owners seeking to influence local opinion, often in the direction of reform. Employing new techniques, such as original editorials and verbatim accounts of speeches at meetings, provincial newspapers became important organs both shaping and reflecting middle-class opinion.52 Pioneers in this process were Dissenters, including Unitarians. Among the latter were Joseph Gales and Benjamin Flower, who, during the period 1783–1803, were the first publishers to introduce the new editorial style in the Sheffield Register and Cambridge Journal, respectively. In Leeds, Unitarians provided most of the financial backing for the Leeds Mercury which, beginning in 1801, was published by the Independent Edward Baines, the great champion of the new editorial style. Unitarians also ran reform-minded newspapers in Newcastle upon Tyne, Wakefield, and Hull, old centers of the Presbyterian-Unitarian tradition. Baines’ successful editorial style was imitated most famously by the Manchester Guardian, founded in 1821 by mostly Unitarian investors, and initially edited and printed by Unitarians. Unitarians also provided financial backing to Archibald Prentice, who broke with the Guardian to edit more radical newspapers in Manchester beginning in 1824. The same is true of the Sheffield Independent, which began its run in 1820.53 These and like-minded periodicals of this era were agents of class consciousness. They voiced the aspirations and concerns of the Dissenting middle classes, particularly the growing conviction that the established order benefited landed elites and monopolists at the expense of the productive classes. The East India Company’s stranglehold on trade with India and China, import duties, the Orders in Council during the Napoleonic wars—these and other examples of government regulation were denounced in these new organs of local opinion.54 Prominent members of a prosperous, provincial old bourgeoisie, Unitarians had sufficient economic motive to support newspapers that championed laissez-faire principles.55 But as Fox’s sermon on Carlile indicates, their support for free trade was linked to an older interest in a free exchange of ideas. This linkage illuminates why many Unitarians later went on to support the Anti-Corn Law League and the science of political economy. Indeed, two of the most popular Victorian writers on the new science—Harriet Martineau and W. R. Greg—came from Unitarian backgrounds.56 Unitarianism provides other glimpses into the making of middle-class culture. Dissenting congregations provided members with vital networks of social and economic support.57 The Unitarians amply demonstrate this.58 Ministers and congregations also reflected and instilled notions of middle-class respectability. There is no room here to explore this aspect of Unitarian influence. Suffice it to say that, as pioneers of domestic missions and Sunday Schools, keen advocates of Poor Law reform, guardians of class distinctions inside their chapels, and (mostly) opponents of Chartism, Unitarians helped shape the Victorian middle-class mindset.59 More important for present purposes is the political role played by Unitarians. At the local and national level, they wielded influence out of all proportion to their numbers.



THE UNITARIANS


As confidants of opposition ministers, allies of crusading humanitarians, members of parliament, mayors and aldermen in provincial cities, Unitarians cut a striking figure in the political life of Britain between the 1780s and the 1850s. As a Dissenting journal observed in 1836, Unitarians “had the ear of the ministers; they were the only class of Dissenters known to the political coteries or clubs.”60 How did a small and shrinking denomination acquire such political influence? Various considerations come into play here. As noted, Unitarians were worldlier than other denominations. They believed in applying the divine gift of reason to both the Bible and the human condition. Political activism, when the opportunity or need arose, came more naturally to them than it did, say, to early Methodists, who believed politics was a distraction from saving souls.61 The socioeconomic position of their leading families contributed as well. A provincial bourgeoisie feeling the financial sting of monopolies, taxes, and trade restrictions, the dominant groups in most Unitarian congregations had ample reason to use whatever political leverage existed to right these economic wrongs. William Smith’s repeated election to parliament by Norwich’s angry merchants during the period 1802–1830 is exemplary: Smith was a Unitarian and elected with the support of the city’s radical middle class, who, led by Unitarians, opposed the Corn Laws and the income tax, while demanding retrenchments in public spending.62 As special victims of state-sanctioned religious persecution, Unitarians had additional reason to get involved in politics before other denominations did. They were alone among Dissenters in not enjoying the benefits of the 1689 Toleration Act, and heavy penalties were levied on anti-Trinitarians by the Blasphemy Act of 1698. Although seldom enforced, these official acts of discrimination rankled, especially given the public hostility and petty acts of persecution Unitarians faced throughout the eighteenth century. The explosion of public hatred and official persecution during the 1790s was a stark reminder of the precarious nature of their civil rights. This was altered by the Trinity Act of 1813, which granted official toleration to Unitarians, but legal problems remained. The specter of prosecution under common law for blasphemy emerged as a new threat in 1817. That same year, Unitarians faced the first legal challenge to their control of religious trusts and buildings originally endowed by orthodox Presbyterians. The law suits in this and other cases were brought by fellow Dissenters. Although the matter was resolved in their favor by the 1844 Dissenters’ Chapels Act, throughout the 1820s and 1830s Unitarians felt persecuted once again.63 Little wonder, then, that Unitarians were civil rights activists. This is clear from the records of the Protestant Dissenting Deputies (PDD), one of Britain’s earliest civil rights organizations. Comprised of two members from each of the Presbyterian, Independent, and Baptist congregations in greater London, the PDD came into being in 1732 during an early effort by Dissenters to repeal the Test and Corporation Acts, which banned non-Anglicans from crown appointments and municipal office. After a second effort at repeal came to naught in 1739, the PDD concentrated on protecting the civil rights of Dissenters across England and Wales. By 1813 the organization had taken up some 240 cases of religious discrimination or abuse, many from isolated rural areas. Unitarians were a major force on the PDD, particularly in the early nineteenth century. Presbyterianism was strong in London and, as their chapels became Unitarian, the latter continued to exert great influence on the civil rights body. Also, Unitarian representatives to the PDD were often of a high caliber and assumed leadership positions. William Smith and his long tenure as chairman (1805–1832) is a conspicuous example of this, but so is Edgar Taylor, an influential deputy in the 1820s. During their terms of service the PDD helped secure a series of civil rights victories for religious dissidents.



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These included the 1812 “Little Toleration Act” that broadened the legal interpretation of the 1689 Toleration Act, as well as repealed little-enforced, but symbolically significant pieces of the Clarendon Code designed to prevent Dissenters from establishing chapels. Smith’s role in the passage of the 1813 Trinity Act was crucial, while Taylor led the PDD in the early stages of their long fight for civil registration of births, deaths, and marriages. The most important of all these civil rights efforts was repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts in 1828. As we shall shortly see, Smith, Taylor, and other Unitarians were deeply involved in this campaign.64 Another reason that Unitarians were drawn into politics relates to their local influence. During the course of the eighteenth century, growing prosperity translated into political importance for leading Presbyterian-Unitarian families. In the 1770s and 1780s, members of prominent congregations conspicuously held public offices as bailiffs, magistrates, constables, and Poor Law overseers in Birmingham and Manchester. In other places they dominated, or were influential in, corporation affairs, and in most provincial towns they formed a significant minority among the enfranchised. Recognizing their local importance, the Whig opposition began courting Unitarians as early as the 1760s. Rockingham had close contacts with leading Unitarians in West Yorkshire, many of whom were active in the Yorkshire Association as well. One of these, John Lee, became an advisor, speechwriter, and local agent of the Whig leader. Lord Shelburne continued this tradition, drawing first Richard Price and then Priestley into his inner circle. Shelburne also relied upon Lindsey as an informant about cabinet affairs and as a conduit of information with provincial Dissenters. Ministers such as Price and Priestley were valued by Shelburne for their intellectual and rhetorical skills, honed in religious controversy with orthodox opponents, and useful for the political controversies of the American revolutionary war period.65 This trend continued in the early decades of the next century. James Losh played John Lee to Henry Brougham and Earl Grey, serving as local contact and confidant on political matters in northern England for the Whig leaders.66 Another example is William Roscoe, one of Liverpool’s most influential denizens before his death in 1831. Lawyer, banker, poet, historian, botanist, civic activist, social reformer, political radical, abolitionist, and MP, Roscoe’s legacy in Liverpool was enormous. Ample evidence of this can be found in the civic institutions that he helped found or supported, such as an arts and crafts society, a literary society, a botanic garden, a reading room and library, and the Liverpool Royal Institution, which in 1817 brought together many of these earlier efforts under one roof.67 Roscoe also served as Liverpool radicalism’s contact with the political opposition in the early nineteenth century. His circle of political friends included the aging Shelburne, now the first marquess of Lansdowne, with whom Roscoe began a correspondence in 1790. At Lansdowne’s table Roscoe dined with Charles James Fox, the future prime minister Grey, and other political and intellectual figures. His circle of Whig contacts included Lord Holland and Brougham.68 Other Unitarians translated local renown into political influence. In Manchester, Roscoe’s example was followed by G. W. Wood, Benjamin Heywood, and other Unitarians who helped found or dominated the boards of various civic institutions such as the Royal Manchester Institution. Other Unitarians, including George Philips and Richard Potter, were largely responsible for founding and editing the Manchester Guardian in its early years. As with Roscoe, civic activism resulted in parliamentary careers—either before or after 1832—for Wood, Heywood, Philips, and Potter, as well as other Manchester Unitarians. They were not alone. When John Bowring took his seat in Commons in 1835, thirteen of the fourteen Dissenters there were Unitarians.69 Similar figures hold true for



THE UNITARIANS


the late eighteenth century, when Rational Dissenters, “[t]hough in steady numerical decline . . . monopolised the parliamentary representation of Dissent.”70 Civic leadership also led to enormous political influence in corporation affairs. This was particularly true after municipal reform in 1835. In some cities, such as Norwich or Bristol, where Unitarians had long enjoyed access to public office and influence in local affairs, 1835 meant little change. But in cities such as Liverpool and Leicester, where Dissenters had been excluded from municipal government, something akin to a revolution took place. Over the next several decades, disproportionate numbers of Unitarians served as mayors, councilors, and aldermen in Leicester, Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool, and other provincial cities.71 The symbolic capital that Unitarians accrued through civic leadership thus paid handsome political dividends locally. Unitarians were distinguished above all for their access to leading British politicians. This national influence is most apparent in their leadership on civil rights issues, as the career of William Smith demonstrates. Inheritor of a prosperous London grocery business, Smith first entered parliament in 1784 in the usual corrupt way. Having purchased one of the most expensive seats available (Sudbury), Smith began his career supporting Pitt. While typical of the great commercial interests of London, such support for the king’s ministry was less likely from the provincial middle classes, who saw little benefit from mercantilist policies. But Smith also embraced the cause of constitutional reform and remained a supporter, even in the dark days of Pitt’s repressions. It was this cause that led to a lifelong alliance with the Whig opposition that began in the 1790s.72 What motivated Smith here was removal of the stigma imposed by the Test and Corporation Acts on Dissenters and others. Priestley once described these as a punishment without a crime, while to Smith they were “penal statutes which marked out particular descriptions of people as odious, and as objects of persecution.” 73 Sharing the Unitarian conviction that liberty of conscience was the most fundamental right of all, Smith became an ardent advocate of repeal and constitutional reform in general. He was welcomed by the Whigs, who, under the leadership of Fox and Holland, were making civil and religious liberty their cause. Fox has been described as a “political Socinian”; certainly he and his nephew led the Whigs in seeking to remove the legal disabilities facing religious minorities.74 Smith found a home in Whig circles and after 1796 it was at his house that the party’s elite often congregated.75 Smith’s role in the campaigns to repeal the Test and Corporation Acts was significant. He was active in the effort that ended with the defeat of Fox’s 1790 bill. In 1820 Smith and Holland presented a petition to parliament calling for the abolition of “every remnant of that system of coercion and restraint on religious profession which had its origins in times of darkness and intolerance.” When the PDD and other Dissenting organizations formed the United Committee in 1827 to push for repeal, it was Smith who directed the new body’s lobbying effort. Given his parliamentary experience and intimate contacts with supportive Whigs (the repeal bill was introduced by Lord John Russell), this was only natural.76 Other Unitarians were also instrumental in the final repeal campaign. Robert Aspland founded in 1817 the Non-Con Club, a literary society devoted to celebrating religious liberty. Many members were Unitarians, such as Edgar Taylor, William J. Fox, and John Bowring. The Unitarians in the club were responsible for creating the Unitarian Association in 1819, founded to protect Unitarians against prosecution for blasphemy under common law. Beginning in 1821 the association lobbied other Dissenting groups to create a united effort to pressure parliament for repeal. That effort bore fruit in 1827, with Aspland playing a key role. A suggestion at a January 1827 meeting of the



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Non-Con Club resulted in a general meeting of representatives from leading Dissenting groups in March 1827, which in turn led to the creation of the United Committee the next month. The United Committee established its own journal, The Test Act Recorder; it also authorized a delegation of six, headed by Smith, to lobby parliament. Aspland both edited the Recorder and served as one of the six lobbyists. In the latter role, Aspland met with Holland, Russell, and other sympathetic members of parliament. One measure of Aspland’s importance to the repeal effort is that, at the celebration feast, he was given the honor of replying to the duke of Sussex’s toast.77 In that reply, Aspland reiterated the Unitarian call for ending the confessional state. “Liberty of conscience is every man’s birthright,” Aspland had once proclaimed, noting that Dissenters only asked “not to be pronounced unworthy of power or place; not to be disqualified for [sic] serving our country as if we were criminals.” In his reply to the duke, Aspland added his hope that the 1828 Repeal Act would be followed by “repeal of other tests not enacted by the government, but by corporations, and learned corporations.” This reference to the exclusion of non-Anglicans from Oxford and Cambridge led to a breakfast conversation at Holland House on the subject.78 Unitarians were also notable for their support of Catholic emancipation. Indeed, it was once argued that this issue neatly defined the divide between Unitarians and Trinitarians in British Dissent.79 A look at Aspland explains why. The Unitarian minister was a strong supporter of emancipation. He alluded to the subject in his reply to the duke of Sussex; he participated in a public meeting to advance the cause; he corresponded with Russell on strategies for achieving it; and he helped shape a Unitarian Association resolution stating “[t]hat entire and unrestricted liberty of religious faith and worship is the right of every human being, and that this right is violated by the establishment of any religious test of fitness for civil office.” This enraged Joseph Ivimey, a London Baptist minister who opposed Catholic emancipation, complaining of the “Socinian spirit” underlying the idea and calling for the expulsion of Unitarians from Dissenting organizations.80 In 1813 and 1829 Lant Carpenter was embroiled in similar debates in Exeter and Bristol with orthodox Dissenters opposed to emancipation. Each time, Carpenter led a counterpetition effort, spoke and wrote in favor of religious liberty for all, and corresponded on the subject with Lord Holland.81 The first campaign for Jewish emancipation also brought out the Unitarian commitment to liberty. This campaign began as a direct result of the events of 1828 and 1829. The Repeal Act had been passed with a conservative amendment adding the words “upon the true faith of a Christian” to the oath required of corporation officers. These were the same words used in the abjuration oath dating to the reign of William III. The latter oath was required of members of parliament as well as of those holding the franchise. The reaffirmation of these words in an act removing major civil disabilities from Dissenters sharpened the sense of discrimination among Jews, who until then had taken a measure of comfort in sharing some of the legal fate of Dissenters and Catholics. The 1829 emancipation of Catholics compounded the feeling. Later that year the Jewish Board of Deputies, a body modeled after the PDD, presented a petition to parliament calling for Jewish relief comparable to that just given to Dissenters and Catholics. The following year, another petition was presented, and it led to the first Jewish emancipation bill. This 1830 bill was followed by thirteen other failed bills until finally in 1858 the first of a series of acts addressing Jewish disabilities was passed.82 The long Jewish emancipation effort drew support from a wide variety of British groups. Among Dissenters, Quakers and Unitarians were the most vocal supporters.83 Unitarians had a history of drawing Jews into their congregations as visitors or converts.



THE UNITARIANS


It has also been suggested that Unitarian interest in the Jewish cause was owing to theological affinities between the two groups.84 But it is their unstinting support for religious freedom and opposition to religious tests that most explains why Unitarian names appear in accounts of the early campaign for Jewish emancipation. Aspland, again, is exemplary. The pages of the Monthly Repository often drew attention to the history or plight of Jews while he was the editor. Aspland attracted Jewish visitors and converts to his congregation and sermons; David Ricardo, for example, attended his chapel for many years. Supportive of a Unitarian Association resolution linking freedom of religion with the right to hold public office, Aspland joined Jewish activists Moses Montefiore and Isaac Lyon Goldsmid at least once in a series of meetings leading up to the first Jewish emancipation bill. And, in the early 1830s, a member of Aspland’s congregation, John Bowring, served as a liaison between the Jewish community and Dissenting and Unitarian groups supporting emancipation.85 One must not exaggerate the Unitarian contribution to dismantling the confessional state. In the 1830s growing militancy in the ranks of Dissenters led to a movement calling for complete separation of church and state. This time Congregationalists were conspicuous in their leadership,86 and Aspland was one favoring moderation. He met with Lords Grey and Holland and passed on to Dissenters the Whig leaders’ alarm at the radical demand for disestablishment. Steeped in the Unitarian tradition of close cooperation with the Whigs, Aspland concentrated his attention on piecemeal reforms, such as the Marriage Act of 1836. This reform recognized marriage as a civil contract and ended a requirement dating to 1753 that all marriages be performed in a church according to Anglican ceremony. Unitarians had long found this obnoxious, and it was Edgar Taylor who led the campaign for reform. Aspland joined Taylor in successfully lobbying sympathetic Whigs to secure passage of the 1836 act.87 Aspland’s behind-the-scenes meetings with Grey and Holland on the issue of marriage law reform are a potent reminder of Unitarianism’s significance for modern British history. If not always at the forefront, Unitarians helped undo the confessional state, both by leading specific civil rights campaigns and by insistently pressing the case for universal religious liberty. Their congregations were places where an alternative public began to take shape, one free of establishment control and influence. Champions first of freedom of conscience, they helped articulate the discourse of liberalism by effortlessly expanding their support for individual liberty to include freedom of the press and free trade. Members of an old bourgeoisie in market towns, leading Unitarian families helped shape an emerging middle-class culture through civic activism and support for provincial newspapers. Civic leadership led to political influence, both before and after the era of reform began. Local power begat in turn national influence, as Whig politicians from Rockingham to Holland courted Unitarians and sought out their advice. Critics certainly went too far in calling them “a political rather than a religious sect.”88 But it is not too much to note that Unitarians had the ear of Whig leaders and that they helped forge a political alliance that would shape the future Liberal Party. These considerations loom large in the story of Rammohun Roy’s fame in Britain. When the Bengali religious reformer embraced the nebulous identity of Unitarianism, he was welcomed into a community wielding considerable local power and enjoying national influence. If small in number, Unitarians had ample resources for transforming Rammohun from a colonial outsider into an imagined member of a new nation in the making. His celebrity and their revolutionary status were linked phenomena.



22

Rammohun Roy, Thomas Jefferson, and the Bible

The Unitarian movement was always a transnational phenomenon. In Reformation Europe, anti-Trinitarians could be found in Italian and Swiss territories, Spain, Poland, Transylvania, Holland, Britain, and elsewhere. Persecution, the printing press, and the circulation of people and texts aided the dispersal of heterodoxy. A case in point is Socinianism. The Inquisition drove dissident Italians north of the Alps. One refugee was Faustus Socinus (1539–1604),1 who resided in Lyon, Basel, and Transylvania before settling in Krakow. In each place Socinus associated with like-minded individuals, and in Poland he and local anti-Trinitarians forged the doctrines that bear his name. Socinianism flourished in seventeenth-century Poland until the Counter-Reformation silenced or dispersed adherents to Transylvania, Holland, and East Prussia. During its heyday in Rakow, the Polish movement attracted heterodox individuals from Germany and dispatched emissaries to other regions. They also printed a series of heterodox works, including the Racovian Catechism (1605), which was reissued in multiple translations in the ensuing decades. People and books on the move disseminated Socinianism. After the Jesuits shut down the press in Rakow, a flood of Socinian publications appeared in Holland, which was emerging as a publishing center. Many of these were directed at the English market. These were usually duodecimo editions, easy to conceal in pockets and lightweight for transport. One such work was a 1609 Latin edition of the Racovian Catechism dedicated to James I. It was publicly burned by order of parliament a few years later. But this was for nought. The constant flow of refugees, clergy, students, and merchants between England and Holland kept Socinianism alive in the British Isles, where a brisk market existed for Socinian and other heterodox texts throughout the century. These helped spawn what became the Unitarian movement of the eighteenth century. This legacy is recorded in the fact that enemies continued to direct the epithet “Socinian” at British Unitarians well into the nineteenth century.2 Unitarianism came of age with the British empire, creating global possibilities for the diffusion of anti-Trinitarianism. The movement of heterodox people and texts between Holland and Britain was replicated around the world. North America is an



Chapter 2


example. Liberal theological writings imported from the mother country laid the seeds in colonial New England for a rationalist tradition that rejected evangelicalism and orthodox Calvinism.3 Migration contributed too. Universalism arrived from Britain with John Murray in the 1770s and would go on to become a major strand in American Unitarianism.4 Independence had little impact on these trends. In 1776 Theophilus Lindsey sent copies of Joseph Priestley’s writings to Harvard College’s library. Priestley’s publications were also distributed by William Hazlitt, an English Unitarian minister who arrived in the republic in 1783. The circulation of his works made it easier for Priestley to migrate to the United States when life in Britain became unbearable. The year Priestley sailed for the New World—1794—saw other Unitarian ministers flee to America. There they discovered two fledgling Unitarian congregations in New England. Neither lasted very long, but in 1796 Priestley helped a group of Philadelphians establish the first permanent Unitarian church in the United States. Turning down the pulpit at that congregation, Priestley devoted the rest of his life to republishing his works and writing new ones.5 He also made one notable convert, as we shall shortly see. Heterodoxy followed empire to India too. In its broadest contours, the process was similar to what transpired in North America. Anti-Trinitarian individuals and their texts arrived in British ships, linked up with sympathetic local dissidents, and assisted the latter in creating new outposts of Unitarianism. Differences abounded too, not least of which was the refraction of Christianity through the lenses of South Asian religious traditions. Still, there is excellent reason to compare the North American and South Asian experiences. In each land prominent individuals, working under the direct influence of British Unitarian settlers, crafted remarkably similar personalized versions of the Bible in the same year. In the process, they embraced a Christian identity that each found otherwise unacceptable, employing Unitarian ideas to recast the definition of a Christian in nearly identical ways. These individuals were Rammohun Roy and Thomas Jefferson. The abbreviated versions of the Bible each produced in 1820 are well known, but these have been largely studied in isolation. In 2005 R. S. Sugirtharajah broke important ground by analyzing the two texts as similar but independent projects. Although Sugirtharajah found significant parallels in the two men’s ideas regarding Christianity and their treatment of the gospels, he concluded that this was “one of those extraordinary coincidences in which similar patterns of thinking were developed simultaneously by two different thinkers who had no direct or indirect contact.”6 Happenstance, however, this was not. Rammohun and Jefferson shared a connection in Unitarianism, which profoundly informs the versions of the Bible they respectively produced in 1820. Exploring that connection sheds light on crucial issues missed by Sugirtharajah, particularly the triangular circulation of anti-Trinitarianism between Britain, India, and North America. Understanding that pattern of movement moves us past Sugirtharajah’s claim that Rammohun and Jefferson were rooted in such distinct intellectual traditions that “any chance of borrowing or mutual influence was extremely remote.” 7 Unitarianism brought the two men into a common endeavor challenging traditional interpretations of the Bible and Christianity. Tracing this transnational project reveals a Bengali Vedantin and an American Deist on common ground, contesting the margins of Christian identity by reducing the Bible to the essential moral truths of Jesus. It also brings into focus the emergence of celebrity heterodoxy in the person of Rammohun, who enjoyed adulation on three continents that Jefferson might have shared, but purposefully denied himself. The nature and significance of this phenomenon is taken up



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R AMMOHUN, THOMAS JEFFERSON, THE BIBLE

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in the next chapter. First we need to understand how two intellectuals on opposite ends of the earth arrived at similar views of the Bible.

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Rammohun Roy’s journey to renown in the world of biblical criticism began in rural Bengal with a youthful interest in rational religion nurtured by Islamic and Hindu influences. Calcutta was a crucial stopping place, as there he gained facility in using the printed page and refined his views of a purified Hinduism. The colonial capital also brought him into contact with missionaries and private merchants deeply interested in religion. Among the latter were Unitarians who introduced him to their views and traditions of biblical scholarship. The flow of printed materials back and forth between mother country and colony ensured that, once formulated, his interpretation of the Bible was quickly disseminated in Britain. There, a century and more of religious controversies had primed audiences to give this brahman a favorable hearing for his interpretation of Christian scripture. Rammohun was born in 1772, possibly 1774, in Burdwan district, Bengal. On his father’s side, he descended from a line of Rarhi kulin brahmans serving the Muslim rulers of Bengal. This earned them a title—raya rayan—that, in its shortened form (Ray or Roy), eventually replaced the family caste name, Bandyopadhyay or Banerji (Banerjee).8 Rammohun was educated in Persian and Arabic, still the languages of power and culture in Bengal; he also learned Sanskrit. He may have pursued advanced studies in Arabic at Patna and Sanskrit at either Varanasi or Calcutta, but this is disputed. Possibly he was also tutored at home by a Sakta Tantric.9 At age sixteen Rammohun wrote a manuscript, now lost, that was critical of image worship, causing a temporary rupture with his family. In 1797 his father divided his estate, leaving Rammohun with a Calcutta house, among other properties. This drew Rammohun into the colonial world where he amassed a fortune through money lending to Europeans, speculating in East India Company stock, and investing in rural real estate.10 His interest in religion remained strong. Rammohun composed another lost manuscript, in Persian, and titled Manazarat al-Adyan (Discussions on Various Religions). One Persian work has been preserved. This is the Tuhfat al-Muwahhidin (A Present to the Believers in One God), published in 1803–1804 with an Arabic introduction. These works have led scholars to stress Rammohun’s original debt to Islamic rationalism.11 Some see him as “a Madrasa stylist” fluent in Indo-Persian literary norms,12 or as directly influenced by seventeenth-century texts such as the Dabistan-i-Mazahib (School of Religions).13 Such assertions have been challenged by those claiming a greater debt to the Hindu tradition.14 Rammohun was certainly immersed in the cultural world of precolonial Bengal. As C. A. Bayly demonstrates, a vibrant public sphere existed in north India. Circulating manuscripts, oral discussions, public recitals, and popular entertainment fashioned a public arena akin to the one that Jürgen Habermas linked to the rise of print media in early modern Europe. Centuries of Muslim rule meant that Indo-Persian cultural norms—and the Persian language—were pervasive. Religious topics figured prominently in public discussions during the eighteenth century.15 Rammohun’s Persian skills and manuscripts are reflective of this age. They also earned him respect. He was accorded the status of maulavi by Calcutta’s scholarly Muslim community.16 An 1820



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Persian text—perhaps written by a member of that community—referred to him as “the respected author of the Tuhfat.”17 On a visit to Delhi, Rammohun gave Muslims there the impression that he was “considerably inclined towards Islam.”18 His Persian skills stood Rammohun in good stead with Bengal’s new colonial masters. Early British officials and European merchants relied on Indian assistants to help navigate the linguistic and cultural intricacies of local society. These munshis were valued for their command of Persian and routinely employed to tutor young officials and private traders. Cultural brokers as well, munshis introduced officials and merchants to local norms and expectations. This kind of intermediary gave way in the nineteenth century to ones with greater command of English language and culture. The new munshis came from families with patterns of service to precolonial rulers; often they had mastered Persian before learning the new language of power.19 Rammohun illustrates these trends. Beginning in 1803 he served British officials for twelve years. Most of this period he was with John Digby in a private capacity, where his duties included tutoring Digby’s assistant in Persian and Arabic. Twice the East India Company sent Rammohun to Bhutan on diplomatic missions, exemplifying their early dependence on Indian knowledge brokers.20 Digby testified that Rammohun’s knowledge of English was limited at first, but improved significantly. By perusing all my public correspondence with diligence and attention, as well as by corresponding and conversing with European gentlemen, he [Rammohun] acquired so correct a knowledge of the English language, as to be enabled to write and speak it with considerable accuracy. He was also in the constant habit of reading the English newspapers . . .21

Rammohun had unusual reasons for mastering English. He was already wealthy and little interested in a munshi’s career. Intellectual agendas motivated him, as his receptivity to Digby’s offer to read Greek and Latin literature with him indicates.22 Comments by George Fitzclarence (later earl of Munster) are also illuminating. Fitzclarence met Rammohun in Calcutta prior to 1818 and was impressed. The Bengali, Fitzclarence reported, already knew a remarkable amount about English politics, quoted “Locke and Bacon on all occasions,” and was “very desirous to visit England and enter one of our universities.”23 Religious motives were also at work. Fitzclarence took note of Rammohun’s burgeoning reputation as a Hindu reformer.24 Rammohun’s first Vedanta publications appeared shortly after he settled in Calcutta in 1815. Over the next four years he produced a series of pamphlets challenging Hindu orthodoxy.25 These were mainly commentaries or translations of parts of the Upanishads. Displaying a debt to Sankara—the eighth-century commentator—they laid out Rammohun’s rationalist views. God is transcendent, formless, infinite, unchangeable, and unknowable, except as the author of all things. True worship is a private act involving a rational aspiration to know God by hearing and meditating on the message found in the Vedas. Morality consists of doing right by others. The gift of holy knowledge is open to all, not just sannyasins. Householders going about their daily affairs could also seek to know God and enjoy the blessings brought by true worship and moral conduct. These included freedom from ignorance, poverty, and injustice in this world, and liberation from samsara or rebirth in the next.26 Popular Hinduism was thus deeply flawed in Rammohun’s view. It attempted to give the Supreme Being form, attributes, and personalities. It promoted irrational devotion



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in the form of ritualism and idolatry. It also gave rise to immoral practices such as sati and female infanticide, as well as caste-based dietary and other restrictions, all of which kept Hindu society in a degraded condition. Such customs were neither founded on scripture nor rationally defensible. Many of Hinduism’s faults were encouraged by brahmans out of pure self-interest. Profiting from rituals, customary practices, and image worship, brahmans were guilty of leading the people to “the temple of idolatry” while keeping hidden from view “the true substance of morality.”27 Such views were controversial. Conservative Hindus objected to Rammohun’s criticisms of image worship and sati, his emphasis on scriptural authority and vernacular translation, and his claim that not only sannyasins but also ordinary citizens could obtain moksa. Many were scandalized by his suggestion that the faults for which Westerners criticized Hinduism were encouraged by self-interested brahmans. His learned critics engaged Rammohun in both traditional oral disputations and the new public world of printed works emerging in colonial Bengal. Less savory opponents resorted to threats on his life, which led Rammohun to secure a body guard.28 This controversy is well known.29 What needs more attention is how it garnered Rammohun a reputation outside India. He prepared English translations of most of his Vedanta pamphlets, as well as some of his printed rejoinders to orthodox pandits. This was a calculated effort to win European backing. Although Rammohun enjoyed support from some Bengalis, such as those who joined the Atmiya Sabha, a society devoted to advancing progressive religious ideas he founded in 1815, their numbers were small and the Sabha was soon disbanded.30 As he wrote in a later letter, his Vedanta publications “raised such a feeling against me that I was at last deserted by every person except two or three Scotch friends.”31 In such circumstances, Rammohun needed the support of the European colonial population in Bengal. This required mastering the language and culture of Bengal’s colonial rulers. Taking advantage of the new medium of print, he courted enlightened officials, officers, and merchants with his message of an originally pure Hinduism gone bad.32 Rammohun cultivated a readership abroad too. Shortly after his first English works appeared in Calcutta, copies were transmitted to Britain. Some—and likely all—of these were sent by Rammohun. One recipient was his old friend and employer, John Digby, who edited an 1817 London volume containing Rammohun’s first two English Vedanta works.33 The editors of the London-based Monthly Magazine also received copies of his first three English Vedanta publications. In 1817 and 1818 they reprinted all or parts of these, pointing out that the first one was “transmitted to us, for publication in Europe, by the author,  .”34 As mentioned in the last chapter, the Monthly Magazine became the national voice of middle-class Dissent in the 1790s. It remained popular among reformers and intellectuals of a later day. The issues that reprinted excerpts from Rammohun’s works also contained reviews of works by Bentham, Godwin, Thomas Moore, and Shelley, among others. The last named likely joined Coleridge in learning about Rammohun through the pages of the Monthly Magazine.35 An 1817 German translation of Rammohun’s first English Vedanta pamphlet—Translation of an Abridgment of the Vedant—was probably inspired by the Monthly Magazine notices or Digby’s edition.36 Missionaries also transmitted Rammohun’s works to Britain. Within months of its publication in Calcutta, excerpts from the Abridgment and brief accounts of its author appeared in the Missionary Register and Periodical Accounts Relative to the Baptist Missionary Society.37 In 1819 the missionary Deocar Schmid sent to Germany for possible publication a group of Rammohun’s Vedanta publications.38 Meanwhile, other





religious and secular periodicals took notice in India, Britain, and France.39 Copies of Rammohun’s pamphlets also reached North America, where the fledgling North American Review published a review.40 Most of this widening audience was won over. Some editors supported Rammohun’s claims regarding monotheism and rational worship in the Upanishads, although missionaries generally disparaged the idea that the Vedas contained pure doctrines. They all applauded the critique of image worship, ritualism, and other problems, that—as they saw it—made Hindus a degraded lot. Allusions to Luther and the Protestant Reformation surfaced, with various writers referring to Rammohun as “the Hindoo reformer” or simply “the Reformer.”41 The repeated appeal he made to scriptural authority was a factor.42 By 1820 Rammohun was thus renowned on three continents for launching what many believed was a “Hindoo Reformation.”43 Vital to this international reception was Rammohun’s skill at translation. Mastering the English language and British culture gave him facility at phrasing things in familiar ways to Western audiences. He appealed to Protestant readers by casting himself as a crusader against ingrained superstition, idolatry, and priestcraft who suffered social ostracism for attempting to restore the pure religion of the Vedas.44 Rammohun also employed the language of Deism to explain Vedanta to his English-reading public. He used phrases such as “Supreme Being” or “the Author and Governor of the universe” to render concepts such as isvara, brahman, or atman intelligible,45 and he wrote of “Nature’s God” and the “dictates of common sense,” evoking the sensibility more so of a “philosophé than [a] pandit.”46 Hence Europeans initially thought him a Deist.47 This label proved misleading because Rammohun soon found Unitarianism more congenial. The vexing matter of Rammohun’s religious views is relevant here. He moved freely between Islamic, Hindu, and Christian rationalist traditions. Some scholars argue for a succession of influences—“Persian, Vedantic and occidental”—roughly in line with the chronological events of his life.48 Others claim that Rammohun remained always a Vedantin.49 A third camp argues for a universal theism underlying this interest in different religions.50 Dermot Killingley offers yet another approach. Contemporaries noted Rammohun’s chameleon-like ability to give different religious audiences the impression that he shared their opinions.51 Building on this, Killingley suggests thinking of Rammohun as addressing different audiences when he wrote in Persian, Bengali, and English. Each had distinct religious discourses and different sacred texts that Rammohun used in turn to present his core ideas. Thus, when he argued for the unity of God and rational worship, he did so in ways tailored to the mental universe of each audience. Professional translators today call this localization—situating a text within the linguistic and cultural horizons of the target audience. One of Rammohun’s many talents was successfully localizing his religious ideas for Muslim, Hindu, and Christian audiences. Or, to paraphrase Killingley, he learned to speak with confidence from within their respective religious discourses.52 He could do so because each had rationalist traditions he admired. Killingley’s approach does the most justice to Rammohun’s engagement with Unitarianism. As this and the next chapter demonstrate, in the 1820s the Bengali reformer achieved international fame as an exegete of Christian scripture. The suggestion that Rammohun’s poor command of English misled Western readers into thinking him more interested in Christianity than he was53 ignores the intense and widespread interest in his Unitarian writings among readers in Britain and North



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America. The case of W. H. Drummond is illustrative. In 1827 the Dublin minister published a work proving, in his view, that the doctrine of the Trinity was neither scriptural nor rational. Drummond not only dedicated the work to Rammohun, but also relied on the Bengali’s arguments and exegesis.54 For the Dubliner—and many other Unitarians—there was no mistaking the meaning or importance of Rammohun’s writings about the Bible. Rammohun’s religious identity is discussed in appendix A. Here the question is why did Rammohun stop localizing using a Deist framework and turn instead to Unitarian discourse? The testimony of Deocar Schmid provides important clues. The German arrived in Calcutta in 1818 an admirer of Rammohun, whose Vedanta works he had encountered in London while preparing for missionary work. Reading these persuaded Schmid that the religion of the Vedas was pantheistical.55 But on finally meeting him, the missionary was shocked to discover that Rammohun was now “a decided Socinian.” The Bengali, he reported back to London, believed that Jesus was a mere teacher sent by God, that the apostles were fallible, and that the Trinity was an unsupportable doctrine. All this Schmid blamed on Scottish friends, who he accused of tutoring Rammohun on how to respond to Schmid’s arguments: “He is as it were kept in bondage by some European Socinians with whom he associates.”56 As indicated, “Socinian” was an epithet hurled at those who called themselves Unitarians. It is not known precisely who introduced Rammohun to their doctrines in Calcutta. But a cryptic portion of an 1824 letter to an unknown American corroborates Schmid’s general testimony. There Rammohun wrote that, after tiring of the “gross absurdities of Hindoo doctrines,” he turned to Christianity, only to discover that orthodox Christian doctrines resembled those of Hinduism. I however was so fortunate as to become acquainted with a Scotch gentleman of great acquirements, who kindly proposed to me to read the Bible with him, and to examine whether it was more conformable to another system of Christianity called Unitarianism, and believed to have been the religion of primitive Christians.

Thanks to this “best of all friends,” he saw that Trinitarianism was a mixture of “Romish and Christian religions,” while “pure Christianity” was based on the surer foundations of revelation and reason.57 This Scottish Unitarian has yet to be identified.58 We can, however, date approximately when he read the Bible with Rammohun. The first bishop of Calcutta wrote of Rammohun’s growing knowledge of Unitarianism during 1815.59 By January 1817, according to a report in Britain, he opposed the doctrine of the Trinity and was studying the Bible to see if it was scriptural.60 Schmid’s letters confirm that by 1819 Rammohun had clear Unitarian views, a circle of “Socinian friends,” and attended a “Scotch Church.” A year later, as we shall shortly see, all doubts disappeared when Rammohun published The Precepts of Jesus. These bits of evidence help us understand the change in discourse. Initially Rammohun found common cause with Western religious rationalism through the medium of Deism. A key element of his Vedanta—God is transcendent, formless, infinite, unchangeable, and incomprehensible except as the author of all things61—was readily translated into terms familiar to many Europeans. Rammohun was likely tutored in the language of Deism by someone from the growing number of colonial officials and private merchants residing in Calcutta. John Digby is as likely a candidate for this role as any.





But before long it was Unitarian rationalism that attracted him. The conduit here was a group of Scotsmen, to whom Rammohun gravitated when his Vedanta writings alienated so many Bengalis.62 We do not know which one helped Rammohun read the Bible through Unitarian lenses, but it was likely someone sharing the profile of George James Gordon. Gordon was close to Rammohun and Dwarkanath Tagore—a key associate of Rammohun—serving with both Bengalis on the Calcutta Unitarian Committee by December 1825, if not sooner.63 The three men were also business partners in several commercial operations. Gordon also supported Rammohun’s campaign to abolish widow burning.64 The Scot was typical of the prominent Unitarians of the day, who often were prosperous merchants or bankers and civic activists. Rumors spread by orthodox missionaries that Gordon helped Rammohun draft his early Unitarian exegeses add to the picture of a close relationship. According to a Boston editor, Gordon indignantly denied the charge.65 No matter who the tutor, or the extent of influence, the story line is clear and familiar. Anti-Trinitarian emissaries settled in Calcutta, found common cause with a like-minded local religious figure, and with his help domesticated their views of the Bible in a new land.66 In this way, Rammohun acquired a new religious vocabulary, one closer to the mainstream of Protestant Christianity than that of Deism. This was, however, neither a brief flirtation—as with his deistic translations—nor a case of mimicry. In 1820 Rammohun started addressing English-reading audiences using the language of Rational Dissent. In 1821 he helped found the Calcutta Unitarian Committee and that year caused a stir by famously converting the Baptist missionary William Adam to Unitarianism.67 Over the next few years Rammohun exhibited an increasingly masterful command of Unitarian modes of discourse and profound engagement with their religious views. The first step was the publication of The Precepts of Jesus in 1820. This was a simple work, consisting of a brief preface, followed by selections from the four gospels. There are neither critical notes nor any notice of parallel passages in the first three gospels, or what is now called the synoptic problem.68 Neglect of the latter is understandable: the hypothesis that Mark was a sourcebook for Matthew and Luke was first advanced in 1835, two years after Rammohun’s death. But Christians had long produced harmonies of the gospels and these were popular in Rammohun’s day. One motive was determining the actual chronology and duration of Jesus’ mission, as in the harmonies produced by Joseph Priestley.69 Rammohun seemed disinterested in chronological matters. It was the recorded words of Jesus that intrigued him.70 The Precepts immediately ignited controversy. Missionaries—particularly the Particular Baptist Joshua Marshman—felt compelled to challenge Rammohun’s version of the New Testament. For his part, Rammohun defended his compilation with sophisticated biblical exegeses of a profoundly Unitarian nature. Marshman responded to these with increasingly long refutations employing orthodox interpretations of scriptures. The escalating war of words spilled over to Britain, where the Baptists and Unitarians issued London editions of the protagonists’ respective publications. The main features of the debate are well known;71 less familiar is the occidental context for this war of words in Bengal. Ostensibly, Rammohun compiled the Precepts to make Christianity more accessible to Indians by separating out the teachings of Jesus. But, as Killingley has noted, Rammohun had another agenda. He was criticizing missionaries for misrepresenting Christianity by stressing doctrinal matters over moral message. In a private letter,



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Rammohun clarified that this concern for doctrine was really about the nature of Jesus and that it deflected attention from observance of the latter’s commandments.72 What this all implied was apparent to Deocar Schmid, who penned the first critical review of the Precepts: in private conversation and now on printed page Rammohun was announcing his view that Jesus was a man sent by God, and his message, not his nature, was the vital issue. Marshman also recognized and rejected this Unitarian perspective. He joined Schmid in denying that the doctrinal and ethical portions of the Bible could be separated. Jesus without the miracles would never do. Marshman was also worried about the Precepts’ reception in Europe. There are many in Britain and elsewhere who “wish to degrade [Jesus] to a level with Confucius or Mahomet, and to contemplate him as the Teacher and Founder of a Sect” rather than as “Lord of all.” These individuals (Marshman clearly meant Unitarians) viewing the Compiler of this work as a man new to the subject and not yet biassed, (as they term it,) in favor of any system of doctrine, will insist on his being far more likely to discover the genuine meaning of the Scriptures, than those who, educated in a Christian country, have been conversant from their youth with the generally received interpretation of Scripture; and giving him full credit for having examined the whole of the Sacred Writings in the closest manner, will be pleased beyond measure to find that, by the testimony of an intelligent and unprejudiced Heathen, they have in Jesus Christ a Teacher who cannot search the heart . . . [and who neither judges them] nor indeed lays claim to . . . Divine Nature.73

This is revealing. The Baptist was keenly aware of European interest in the Luther of India, especially among Unitarians. In 1818 Thomas Belsham reported to Unitarians that since January 1817 Rammohun and “twenty other learned Brahmins” had been studying the scriptures “with the greatest possible attention and impartiality” in order to determine “whether the doctrine of the Trinity is or is not the doctrine of the New Testament.” A Leeds Unitarian wrote later that same year that the results of Rammohun’s biblical studies “will be looked for with anxiety.” 74 Marshman too was anxious, for he realized that with this publication by an “intelligent and unprejudiced Heathen,” antiTrinitarians were poised to claim victory in a long, bitter controversy back home.

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British Unitarians were wont to challenge the received version of the New Testament. In his 1780 English harmony, Joseph Priestley corrected the common version where he found it problematic. Nine years later he proposed a new edition of the New Testament based on advances in biblical criticism. Political turmoil of the French revolutionary period derailed this. In 1806 the Unitarian Society rekindled the venture. It established a committee, led by Thomas Belsham, to craft a corrected version of the New Testament. The committee decided against a new translation. Instead, they produced in 1808 a critical edition of the 1796 translation by William Newcome, archbishop of Armagh, favoring it over others because it was based on the scholarship of J. J. Griesbach. The volume bore a long title that began The New Testament, in an Improved Version, but friend and foe alike referred to it simply as the Improved Version.75 The committee’s preference for Griesbach was well founded. The German scholar is seen today as laying “foundations for all subsequent work on the Greek text of the




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The assumption of the name of a respected prelate of the Church of England for the sanction of a work, in which every doctrine professed by that church, and by that respected member of it, is directly attacked, is something more than an artifice; it is a falsehood and a fraud. It can have no other object than that of procuring a circulation by drawing in unsuspecting purchasers. It is the dagger of an enemy under the cloak of a friend!77

The charge of fraud was repeated, as was the image of an assassin in disguise. Belsham and other Unitarians hastened to deny any attempt to mislead.78 What angered many was how this “Unitarian New Testament” questioned the scriptural authority for cherished beliefs. The treatment of the first two chapters of Matthew and Luke was emblematic. Most of these passages were printed in italics, and within brackets, to indicate that they were likely spurious. Although found in all the extant manuscript copies of the New Testament, the editors of the Improved Version advanced several reasons why these were probably interpolations. Notably, they pointed to the testimony of ancient writers that early (and now lost) versions of the New Testament associated with the Ebionites and Marcion had not contained these chapters. “The account of the miraculous conception of Jesus,” the editors concluded, “was probably the fiction of some early gentile convert.” 79 Critics could not let this stand. Here was the foundation of Unitarian claims that Jesus was a man empowered by God and that the earliest Christians worshipped only one God and believed Jesus his messenger. The authenticity of these four chapters was of vital importance. Orthodox doctrines regarding the Trinity and atonement were at stake, the latter because the notion of a vicarious sacrifice for all sin rested on the divinity of Jesus. The integrity of the Bible as a divinely inspired, harmonious whole was under attack. The italics and brackets had to go. This meant addressing the argument regarding lost versions of the gospels. A reviewer in the Quarterly Review pointed out the problematic nature of this evidence. The Ebionites were “notorious for corrupting the Scriptures to their prejudices, for mutilating and altering without scruple, and for rejecting at once all passages that opposed their favourite opinions.” Marcion held notions “among the most wild that can be conceived,” such as that Jesus “appeared first on earth in a full grown form.” He rejected the Hebrew Bible and “mutilated” the New Testament where it referred to the Old. A mere eleven of twenty-seven New Testament books remained in Marcion’s Bible. Only one of these was a gospel—Luke’s—but even this was “completely disguised by alterations, interpolations, and omissions.” In short, the Unitarian argument against the miraculous conception rested on the authority of “notorious and convicted mutilators.”80 The subtext was clear enough. The editors of the Improved Version were also mutilators, reviving the tactic of ancient heretics to press their modern heterodoxy.81 Unitarians met such accusations by defending the Ebionites and Marcion as valuable informants82 and emphasizing the need for biblical criticism. In the ensuing years Unitarians rallied in support of the Improved Version, while criticizing specific features of it. Lant Carpenter, for example, published a critical review in 1809 and a major book on the subject in 1820,



New Testament.”76 Relying on Newcome’s translation proved less wise. Even though the editors professed to be scrupulous in noting where they deviated from the archbishop’s work, critics were hostile. Many saw an effort to mask heterodox interpretations with a cloak of respectability.

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noting that “some of the most glaring departures from Christian truth, are principally supported by the words of the authorized version.”83 Others cited the “impious forgery” of 1 John 5:7 as reason for critical scrutiny.84 In an 1821 review of Carpenter’s book, Robert Aspland summed up the Unitarian perspective. Carpenter had properly distinguished “between the word of God and the history of that word.” As the latter, the Bible requires careful investigation.85 The controversy over the Improved Version raised issues familiar to biblical scholars today. One is the problematic nature of the canonical New Testament. Unitarians form an early part of the modern critical readership of that text. They anticipated the modern consensus that the canon contains errors of transmission, willful alterations, and passages of doubtful authenticity. Unitarian interest in the early Christians and their alternative versions of scriptures is another point of contact with modern scholarship. In both cases, the existence of “heretical” groups and noncanonical texts has informed a critical reappraisal of the claims of orthodoxy and the history of Christianity.86 There are differences too. Priestley saw in the Ebionites proof that the earliest Christians were Unitarians. He read early orthodox polemics as an attempt to suppress this truth. The editors of the Improved Version also used these polemics to argue that the Ebionite version—because written for early Jewish converts—was the most reliable account of Matthew, and this version did not contain the account of the miraculous conception. The Unitarian editors also relied on what was known of the Bible of Marcion, the second-century Christian whose version of the New Testament, as noted, contained the gospel of Luke without the first two chapters.87 Modern scholars also read early Christian polemics against the grain for glimpses into the religion’s first centuries. But instead of a monolithic, pure Christianity, they find competing communities using variant versions of scriptures. The Ebionites and Marcionites represent two strands of early Christianity, the one stressing continuity with Jewish tradition, the other a radical break from it. Orthodox Christianity evolved from the views of another early community—referred to as proto-orthodoxy—which eventually triumphed over the others. In the process, a particular version of scripture became the canon and that of the others suppressed or forgotten until modern times. The victors claimed the power to define truth and error, and thus orthodoxy and heresy were born.88 Common enough today, these conclusions were foreign to most Britons in the early nineteenth century. Orthodox rage against the Improved Version was provoked by those italicized sections of Matthew and Luke. Trusting in the accounts of early polemicists such as Epiphanius, critics pounced on the Unitarian reliance on the Ebionites and Marcion, who in their eyes had altered scripture to suit their heresies.89 By implication, the editors of the Improved Version were guilty on the same charge. Indeed, the image of Unitarians as mutilators cutting away at the New Testament recalls Tertullian’s claim that Marcion interpreted scripture “with a pen knife.”90 Unitarians responded by appealing to Protestant tradition. In attempting “to improve the translation of the Scriptures,” they were following standard practice.91 Why, then, all the hostile criticism? One answer that came often to their minds was prejudice. Early education reinforced interpretations based on faulty translations, misguided readings, and interpolations. If the Bible, corrected and improved in translation, could only be read with objective eyes, then many of the criticisms leveled at Unitarians would disappear. As Belsham wrote in 1809, “when the Scriptures are studied with unbiassed minds, and with proper assistance for the interpretation of obscure phraseology, the simple, unadulterated doctrine of Christianity will soon appear with irresistible evidence.”92





This appeal to neutral readers was not new. Controversy regarding the Trinity had erupted in Britain many times since the mid-seventeenth century. Usually it resulted not in persuasion, but in entrenched opponents citing favorite biblical passages each thought supported their views.93 Frustrated by this, the hymnist Isaac Watts tried something new in 1722 when he published a tract laying out what he then believed was the scriptural basis of the Trinity. The passages he selected were so plainly supportive of the doctrine, Watts argued, that “[a] Turk, or an Indian, that reads them without any Prepossession, would certainly understand most of them so.” This prompted Martin Tomkins to issue an anti-Trinitarian reply that same year. A Sober Appeal to a Turk or an Indian used the rhetorical device of a letter written to a fictitious foreigner who was asked to arbitrate between the Trinitarians and Unitarians. Both parties so regularly charged the other with “Prejudice and Prepossession” in their biblical interpretations, Tomkins noted, that one wished “that we could meet with some honest Turk or Indian that was capable of reading our Scriptures.” Since Watts had offered his book to the judgment of such an unbiased reader, Tomkins also addressed his work to that same audience, who he proposed could be “set up as an Umpire between us.” The Unitarian had no doubt how this impartial judge would rule.94 The Precepts of Jesus needs to be read in light of this long and intense controversy. It appeared the same year that Carpenter published his major book defending the Improved Version. The initial comments of Schmid and Marshman in Bengal were an extension of orthodox concerns regarding the italicized chapters of Matthew and Luke. Although avoiding inflammatory language about mutilation, the missionaries objected to a project that also separated out New Testament miracles and cast aspersions on them.95 Telling is Marshman’s anxiety that Unitarians would welcome Rammohun’s book as that of an intelligent foreigner whose unbiased study of the Bible trumped the opinions of those raised in Christian tradition. Belsham and the Leeds correspondent confirm that Unitarians in Britain were keen to discover if Rammohun Roy would prove them right. Was he that umpire for whom Watts and Tomkins yearned?

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It is time to turn to a literal case of biblical mutilation that took place in 1820. That year Thomas Jefferson snipped verses from the first four gospels, rearranged these in new order, and pasted the clippings into blank sheets, forming an improved version of the New Testament to his liking. This was not the first time that he had done this. In 1804 the then-president of the United States had whiled away a few evenings in Washington, D. C. cutting up the Bible in a similar fashion. Only the 1820 version—which Jefferson titled “The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth”—has survived in its entirety. The earlier one bearing a different title, “The Philosophy of Jesus of Nazareth,” has been reconstructed with a fair degree of accuracy. This could be done because the battered remains of the two Bibles that Jefferson used still exist. The Bibles from which the former president clipped passages to create his 1820 version are also preserved.96 The two reconstructed versions of the four gospels that Jefferson produced are remarkably similar to The Precepts of Jesus. All three works focus on the sayings of Jesus, providing a vivid image of a moralist and teacher. Each version omits practically all of the miraculous events narrated in the gospels. Jesus walking on water, feeding the multitudes, casting out demons, curing the blind, rising from the dead, and ascending



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into heaven find no place in these works. The miraculous conception narrated in the opening chapters of Matthew and Luke meets the same fate.97 The three versions do diverge. Rammohun’s text is repetitive, reprinting similar accounts found in different gospels, whereas Jefferson’s versions usually retain only one of these or splice together verses from the different accounts. Good examples of these are the sermon on the mount and the parable of the sower.98 The Precepts omits nearly all historical passages, whereas the “Philosophy of Jesus” keeps some—and the “Life and Morals” all—of the narratives chronicling the life and times of Jesus. Thus no mention is made in Rammohun’s volume of John and the baptism of Jesus, nor is there an account of the latter’s betrayal, trial, and execution. The narrative of baptism finds its way only into Jefferson’s later version, but both the 1804 and 1820 texts relate the tale of Jesus’ last days.99 A close reading suggests subtler differences as well. The Precepts, for instance, retains verses such as Matthew 20:23 and John 6:27, where Jesus appears to claim to be sent by God, while neither of Jefferson’s versions contain these.100 Sugirtharajah reads these differences as reflective of two distinct hermeneutical odysseys. Jefferson overcame initial skepticism to view the Bible as a historical volume containing information regarding the life and teachings of Jesus. Rammohun initially admired the social message of the gospels, but over time he treated them as texts congruent with his Vedanta. As Sugirtharajah notes, despite these different agendas, Jefferson and Rammohun agreed that Jesus was a mere man who taught great moral truths. They also shared an aversion to the doctrines of the Trinity and atonement. Moreover, the two produced similar versions of the gospels in the very same year.101 As indicated, Sugirtharajah sees all this as an extraordinary coincidence. This is not so. Jefferson and Rammohun shared a rationalist perspective, similar experiences of hostility from orthodox communities, and a critical perspective on revealed religion and clerics. Each came into contact with Unitarians and felt the force of Unitarian biblical criticism. The result for both men was a personalized New Testament. And, in the process of producing their own improved versions, Jefferson and Rammohun embraced a Christian identity each found otherwise impossible to adopt. Jefferson, like Rammohun, was educated into orthodoxy but experienced a youthful crisis that developed into a form of religious rationalism. Unable to accept the Trinity, Jefferson drifted toward Deism under the influence of Bolingbroke’s writings. The Bible was a mere historical document; Jesus a man of illegitimate birth and benevolent spirit; and the history of Christianity one of corruption and persecution orchestrated by sinister clergy. A wise creator revealed himself, not by means of miracles to isolated groups, but through the works of nature, which rational people at all times and places could comprehend. Morality consisted, not in following the dogmas of organized religion, but in obeying the moral sense—implanted by God—which kept social utility always in mind. Above all, follow your own reason, Jefferson advised, because nothing true in religious matters could be contrary to it.102 Such heterodox views brought Jefferson grief, as did similar ones to Rammohun. Jefferson tried his best to keep his religious beliefs private because he believed religion to be a matter between every individual and God alone. But he got burned by the politics of the nascent republic, where bitter charges were leveled against him by the clerical supporters of his Federalist opponents. These critics pointed to his role in disestablishing the church in Virginia, his support for the early stages of the French Revolution, and his published comments in favor of religious toleration as evidence that the Republican was “an atheist, an infidel, or at best a deist” and unfit to hold the highest office in the land.





This strengthened Jefferson’s conviction not to discuss religion in public and to keep his own beliefs private.103 Both American president and Bengali reformer found Unitarianism attractive in the midst of poisonous attacks. Crucial for both was the presence of British Unitarians brought to their shores by economic opportunities made possible by empire. For Jefferson this was Joseph Priestley, who immigrated to the United States in 1794. Priestley settled first in rural Pennsylvania, where he and his eldest son engaged in a colonization scheme. Although Priestley did not partake in his son’s land speculations, he was active in planning a frontier settlement that never materialized. Eventually, he returned to intellectual pursuits and established contacts with like-minded Americans.104 Among his new circle of companions was Jefferson. Priestley corresponded with the president about theological matters and sent him his religious publications.105 Jefferson came to read widely from Priestley’s works and was impressed by the 1793 edition of An History of the Corruptions of Christianity. That work persuaded Jefferson that what he rejected in orthodox Christianity were corruptions and misinterpretations; that the earliest Christians worshipped a single God; and that Jesus never claimed to be part of the godhead. The American did not agree with his Unitarian mentor that Jesus had performed miracles. But he otherwise concurred with Priestley’s account of a once pure religion, containing a simple, yet sublime message, being perverted over the centuries by clergy introducing metaphysical and mysterious doctrines that defied reason. In a word, reading Priestley convinced Jefferson that he “could be a true Christian without being a Trinitarian.”106 It took some time for Jefferson to give expression to this conviction. In 1803, prompted by Benjamin Rush and inspired by Priestley’s new tract, Socrates and Jesus Compared, President Jefferson compiled a syllabus comparing the ethical doctrines of several ancient philosophers, the Jews, and Jesus. The brief document, which Jefferson sent to a few friends and family members, declared the moral system presented by Jesus to be “the most perfect and sublime that has ever been taught by man.”107 In his accompanying letter to Rush, Jefferson pronounced himself a Christian and made clear his debt to Priestley. To the corruptions of Christianity, I am indeed opposed; but not to the genuine precepts of Jesus himself. I am a Christian, in the only sense in which he wished any one to be; sincerely attached to his doctrines, in preference to all others; ascribing to himself every human excellence, and believing he never claimed any other.108

Early the next year, Jefferson got out his scissors and took his convictions one step further. Here too Priestley was important. In 1803 the Unitarian provided the president with copies of his two harmonies.109 Like other harmonies, these rearranged the gospels in order to clarify the chronology of events. Priestley also outlined the case for treating the gospels as documents shedding light on Jesus as a historical figure. In addition, Priestley described the mechanical process he used to create his harmonies: two Bibles were used; one side of each page was cancelled; and passages from the remaining side were cut out, rearranged, and then pasted onto pasteboard.110 Priestley’s harmonies gave Jefferson “great satisfaction.”111 The idea that the gospels were valuable historical documents was one reason. Another was the tip about how to rearrange the texts. Employing Priestley’s mechanical procedure, the president created not a traditional harmony but a new work laying bare the ethical teachings of Jesus.



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I too have made a wee little book . . . which I call the Philosophy of Jesus. It is a paradigma of his doctrines, made by cutting the texts out of the book, and arranging them on the pages of a blank book, in a certain order of time or subject. A more beautiful or precious morsel of ethics I have never seen. It is a document in proof that I am a real Christian, that is to say, a disciple of the doctrines of Jesus.112

When Jefferson produced his second improved version of the gospels in 1820, he again employed Priestley’s mechanical procedure. This time Jefferson was closer to Priestley in seeing the gospels as historical documents, compiling passages relating the life and teachings of Jesus. The chronology the ex-president created followed that in Archbishop Newcome’s harmony.113 But the former president’s religious sympathies remained unchanged. In 1813 he wrote John Adams that “I have read [Priestley’s] Corruptions of Christianity, and Early opinions of Jesus, over and over again; and I rest on them.” He followed with sympathetic interest the New England Unitarian controversy that intensified after 1815. The following year Jefferson allowed the publication of his syllabus and letter to Rush in Robert Aspland’s Monthly Repository, albeit with his identity disguised. In 1820 he wrote to Jared Sparks, then a Baltimore Unitarian minister, that the two did not “differ materially” in their religious views and restated his core beliefs regarding “the most pure, benevolent, and sublime” precepts of Jesus, the many corruptions made to these precepts over the ages, and the unity of God. And in 1822 he forecast that “the present generation will see Unitarianism become the general religion of the United states.”114 Publicly, however, Jefferson remained silent about his religious views. This did not stop Aspland from claiming Jefferson to the fold. Ferreting out hidden or suppressed anti-Trinitarian sentiments from prominent figures was a time-worn Unitarian tactic. Although the execution of anti-Trinitarians in Britain ended with the seventeenth century, public abuse and legal threats lingered on well past the 1813 act granting legal tolerance to Unitarians. In this climate, many were secretive about their theological opinions. Some led what Christopher Hill called “a double life,” moving in respectable circles and seemingly conventional in their religious views, but privately collecting heterodox publications. Hill used Nathan Paget, good friend of John Milton, as his example, but added that John Locke and Isaac Newton also fit the model.115 Recent scholarship bears this out. Locke and Newton left publications, libraries, and unpublished documents strongly suggestive of heterodox beliefs, although it remains unclear to what extent each adopted Socinian, Arian, or other unconventional doctrines. What is beyond dispute is that both engaged radical, heterodox opinions and gave serious consideration to some of these.116 Also evident is that Unitarians of a later day repeatedly claimed the two intellectual giants for their cause. Using bits and pieces of evidence, some produced by Locke and Newton, some coming from the hands of orthodox critics, Rational Dissenters proudly proclaimed the two as their own. Some were unhappy that Locke and Newton provided only “faint and tardy declarations” of their theological views, but most basked in the conviction that the two were Unitarians. From 1850 onward, Unitarian scholars began publishing books to substantiate their claims about Locke and Newton.117



Arranged by topic, rather than in chronological order, the text he created enabled the president to reclaim Christian identity.


This process was also at work with Milton, with a key difference. Despite his wellknown radical associations and published defense of religious freedom for even supposed heretics, the poet was widely regarded in the eighteenth century as religiously orthodox. Unitarians disagreed. Theophilus Lindsey employed Paradise Regained in the 1770s to argue the case for the humanity of Jesus; he also saw Arianism in Milton’s earlier epic.118 In 1813 Aspland printed in the Monthly Repository excerpts from Milton’s prose that suggested unconventional views appealing to many Unitarians.119 As with Locke and Newton, this was followed by Unitarian scholarship seeking to demonstrate that the great poet was a fellow-traveler.120 The modern scholarly industry that is Milton studies has taken up this subject with great enthusiasm. Careful investigation has raised doubts about the full extent of the Unitarian interpretation, while leaving intact the general conclusion that Milton’s theological views were decidedly unorthodox.121 What distinguishes Milton’s case is that his heterodoxy was brought out in the open in stunning fashion in 1825. That year a recently discovered Latin manuscript bearing Milton’s name was published, with an English translation, by order of the king.122 As a newfound theological work by Britain’s premier religious poet, De Doctrina Christiana drew enormous public interest. Its open espousal of heterodoxies such as Arianism, adult baptism, divorce, and anti-Sabbatarianism was a key reason. Among those most interested in the work were the Unitarians. Robert Aspland published a series of articles by the General Baptist John Evans on the public reception of De Doctrina Christiana.123 Aspland also published his own three-part review containing long excerpts, demonstrating Milton’s affinities for cherished Unitarian doctrines. Fittingly, the Monthly Repository editor concluded one segment of his review by adding Milton to the pantheon of his denomination. Unitarians, he wrote, “may now claim as their own, in addition to the mighty names of  and , the not inferior name of .”124 But Aspland had no such luck with Thomas Jefferson. The American made it difficult for Unitarians to proclaim him one of theirs, publishing next to nothing concerning theology and studiously avoiding public discussion of his religious beliefs. Thus, Aspland had to rely on bits and pieces of news about Jefferson indicative of Unitarian affinities. A copy of Jefferson’s 1820 letter to Sparks, for instance, made its way to Aspland, who printed excerpts in 1823 and declared that “the Ex-President [has] avowed his belief in Unitarian Christianity.” The Monthly Repository also reprinted funeral orations for Jefferson, including one praising the Virginian for defending religious liberty. The only substantial evidence from the American’s hand that Aspland possessed was the 1803 syllabus and letter to Rush. These were suggestive enough, but had to be published with Jefferson’s identity kept secret.125 The best evidence of Jefferson’s Unitarian views remained unknown to Aspland and his compatriots. For some time, only a small circle of intimates knew even of the existence of Jefferson’s two sets of extracts from the New Testament. The first published mention of the “Philosophy of Jesus” appeared in 1829, and nearly another three decades passed before the “Life and Morals” became known to the reading public. Practically no one but family members actually saw either volume until the twentieth century. The 1804 extracts disappeared from family hands sometime after Jefferson’s death in 1826, while the 1820 text remained in the possession of Jefferson’s descendents until 1895. The “Life and Morals” was finally published in 1904 and a reconstructed version of the “Philosophy of Jesus” in 1983.126 Unaware of these works, Aspland could do little more



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than point to the usual “faint and tardy declarations” of heterodoxy from the famous Virginian who, as it were, remained a closet Unitarian.

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Jefferson’s case brings into relief the Unitarian impulse that informs The Precepts of Jesus. It also clarifies the diffusion of Rational Dissent through imperial networks. After settling in Calcutta, Rammohun began associating with Scottish Unitarians such as George James Gordon, who were pursuing commercial opportunities or held government posts in Bengal.127 In the fragmentary letter of 1824, Rammohun acknowledged an intellectual debt to one of these Scotsmen, who allayed his concerns about orthodox Christianity. The Scot read the Bible with him, suggested that it did not support those doctrines, and argued that the first Christians were Unitarians. Sometime thereafter the Precepts appeared. The process with Jefferson was similar, except that we can name names. Thanks to Joseph Priestley—forced into migrating to America and a would-be career as private colonial entrepreneur on the Pennsylvania frontier—the president overcame skepticism of Christianity. The transplanted Briton led Jefferson to distinguish a presumed original from the orthodox version of Christianity. Priestley also inspired the American to create an improved version of the gospels, one that enabled this rationalist president to reembrace Christianity. With scissors in hand, a view of the Bible as a corrupted text, and transplanted Unitarian mentor nearby, Jefferson fashioned a form of Christian identity to his own liking. Rammohun did something akin to this. The Precepts endorses Jefferson’s definition of “a real Christian” as one who follows the doctrines laid down by Jesus. There are, Rammohun noted in the preface, three opinions regarding Christian identity. One is that only those who believe in the Trinity can be called Christian. Another includes under that name all those who accept the Bible as divine revelation, regardless of differences of interpretation. The third view is the most inclusive: “some require from him who claims the title of Christian, only an adherence to the doctrines of Christ, as taught by himself.” This was an appealing definition, as the main body of the Precepts indicates. There the New Testament was pared down to Jesus’ teachings as recorded in the four gospels. The rest could be excised because the Apostles, “like other men, [were] liable to mistake and error.”128 Whether Rammohun actually used a penknife or a scissors—or, more likely, simply transcribed the passages he retained—is not known. In any case, the result was another thin Bible supporting an expansive notion of what it means to be a Christian. Rammohun joined Jefferson in defining Christianity in line with the Unitarian tradition. As we saw in the first chapter, the bedrock of Rational Dissent was the supremacy of individual conscience: every one should interpret scripture according to the light of their own rational judgment. The result was theological heterogeneity as British Unitarians came to pride themselves on tolerance of diverse views. Their congregations became free-thinking zones, attracting those holding radical Christian views, as well as some Jews and the occasional Muslim visitor. Open-minded, tolerant, cosmopolitan—these features maddened orthodox opponents who deplored Unitarianism’s indeterminate nature. What critics bemoaned, attracted Rammohun and Jefferson. Freedom of conscience meant liberty to create a version of the New Testament stripped down to the teachings of Jesus. The idea that Jesus was a man on a divine mission made it possible to subscribe



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to the ethical doctrines found in the gospels without further commitments. Rejection of the Trinity and the related doctrine of atonement as unscriptural, irrational, and—as Priestley seemed to prove—a corruption of original Christianity reconciled religion and critical inquiry in appealing ways for participants in an age of reason. These and other features of Unitarianism allowed for a broad view of Christianity: a true Christian was one who followed the very reasonable precepts of Jesus. Such a definition enabled Rammohun and Jefferson to enter that permeable space at the boundaries of Christianity that was Unitarianism.



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Rammohun Roy, Celebrity Unitarian

For all their commonalities, the personalized gospels produced by Rammohun Roy and Thomas Jefferson are distinguishable in one key respect. The Precepts of Jesus was not designed for the family library and private reading. It was a published work by a seasoned controversialist enjoying international renown as the Luther of India. In Britain, interest in it was enhanced by more than a century of scriptural debate, often bitterly conducted, as in the decade before 1820 over the Improved Version. The biblical views of prominent individuals mattered in this debate, particularly to Unitarians who believed supporters could be driven into secrecy by persecution. Adding to the prepublication interest in the Precepts was the idea that here, finally, was a neutral judgment on the merits of the contending arguments about the Trinity. Hence, when news of Rammohun’s controversy with the Joshua Marshman reached Britain, the public response was intense and—when read in light of what soon transpired with the discovery of Milton’s De Doctrina Christiana—revealing. British Unitarians touted the Precepts and Rammohun’s defenses of that work. Increasingly convinced that he was a Unitarian Christian, they emphasized that Rammohun had come to this through unbiased study of the scripture.1 Worried by this, the Particular Baptists issued an 1822 London volume containing Marshman’s first volleys in the controversy. The Unitarians responded in 1823 and 1824 with London editions of Rammohun’s contributions. Editorial remarks in these works proclaimed the famed Vedantin to be now a Christian controversialist and anti-Trinitarian.2 The same frontispiece—a portrait of Rammohun with his signature—appears in two of the editions3 (see figure 3.1). It also graces the 1824 volume of Robert Aspland’s Monthly Repository.4 This image was obviously taken from an 1822 engraving produced in Calcutta by Philippe Savignhac5 (see frontispiece). Savignhac was one of several French artists plying their trade in Calcutta at this time. A pioneering lithographer, he also produced stipple engravings, including one of Lord Hastings in 1823.6 Savignhac made donations to the Unitarian mission in 1822 and 1823, and later he became official draftsman and engraver for the Calcutta Phrenological Society.7 Rammohun was a major figure on the Calcutta Unitarian Committee at this time and a member of the Calcutta Phrenological Society when Savignhac was its engraver.8 The two may have also have worked together in the production of Rammohun’s vernacular newspapers—discussed in chapter 6—since lithography was instrumental in the transition to print culture in



Chapter 3


Figure 3.1 Portrait of Rammohun Roy by unknown artist. Frontispiece to Rammohun Roy, The Precepts of Jesus . . . (London: Unitarian Society, 1824). Courtesy of Harris Manchester College Library, Oxford.


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Bengal during this period and Savignhac one of its earliest practitioners.9 The extent of Savignhac’s involvement with the Calcutta Unitarian Committee is unclear. The comment regarding Rammohun’s embrace of Unitarianism at the bottom of his portrait is nonetheless significant. According to a February 1823 report in the Christian Register, Rammohun sent “an elegant miniature engraving” of himself to a Boston correspondent.10 The dates and description leave little doubt that this was the one done by Savignhac, especially since a copy of Savignhac’s portrait was collected by Jared Sparks, who corresponded with Rammohun while a Unitarian minister in Baltimore during the early 1820s.11 It is difficult to imagine that Rammohun did not also transmit Savignhac’s image to Unitarians in Britain. The close similarity of the Unitarian Society’s frontispiece to Savignhac’s original Calcutta portrait, along with Rammohun’s habit of sending copies of his publications to British Unitarians, strongly suggests this.12 With its plain words regarding his Unitarianism, the visual image that Rammohun sent overseas matched the rhetorical message found in his writings from the controversy with Marshman. Those writings reveal the blossoming of a brilliant Unitarian controversialist. Rammohun’s initial defense of the Precepts was the anonymous An Appeal to the Christian Public (1820). He objected to being labeled a heathen and hinted at Rational Dissenting views, emphasizing the words of Jesus and suggesting that only those who had imbibed orthodox Christianity from infancy could accept its dogmas.13 The next year Rammohun offered not hints, but open avowal of heterodoxy, publishing the Second Appeal to the Christian Public with his name on the title page. This was a response to Marshman’s second commentary on the Precepts, where the Baptist cited scriptural passages that he believed supported the doctrine of atonement and proved that Jesus had claimed divine status and powers.14 In the Second Appeal Rammohun picked apart Marshman’s arguments in a masterful performance that left contemporaries with no doubts about his religious opinions.15 The distinguishing feature of this volume was Rammohun’s command of the standard tools of Unitarian biblical interpretation. Examples of this abound. To the idea that Jesus claimed knowledge equal to that of God, Rammohun used the frequent Unitarian reply that in Mark 13:32 Jesus reveals his ignorance of the day of judgment, known only to God.16 Marshman’s insistence that John 5:21–23 offered proof that Jesus had claimed “Almighty power . . . in the most unequivocal manner,” was belied by the larger context of this passage. Rammohun argued—as did William J. Fox—that, read together, verses 19–36 proved that the commission to perform final judgment was conferred on Jesus by God and that the former had explicitly disavowed equality with God.17 The notion that Jesus had accepted the worship due only to God was met by the well-rehearsed rejoinder that Jesus never commanded worship or prayers to anyone but God alone.18 Joseph Priestley had argued that verses offered in support of the idea of atonement as a vicarious sacrifice contained figurative language taken too literally by Trinitarians. Rammohun directed that same charge at Marshman for his reading of John 6:51 and Matthew 20:28.19 The Second Appeal resonated with Unitarian audiences for other reasons. It shared their denunciation of the doctrine of atonement for depicting God at odds with common standards of justice and requiring intellectual contortions to explain how a supposed God—Jesus—could suffer pain and death.20 There were also pointed statements about Trinitarian arguments being incomprehensible and amounting to a “mockery of reason.”21 Suggesting repeatedly that “prejudice alone”—the result of early education— could lead readers to read scripture after the orthodox fashion was another mark of



R AMMOHUN ROY, CELEBRITY UNITARIAN


Unitarian influence.22 And claiming Locke and Newton to the anti-Trinitarian fold was proof positive of conversancy with the strategies of Unitarian controversialists.23 Thomas Middleton, the first bishop of Calcutta, certainly thought so. Rammohun, he wrote in 1821, “makes out his [anti-Trinitarian] case quite as well as Lant Carpenter or Belsham.”24 The Second Appeal also added new arguments to the Unitarian armory. By drawing comparisons between East and West, the Unitarian assault on literalist readings of figurative language was bolstered. The Hebrew language, Rammohun noted, “in common with other Asiatic tongues,” tends to metaphorical expression; hence, phrases such as the “Son of God” indicated not divine status, but being “sanctified and sent of the Father.” Unitarians had been making this point for some time.25 By drawing attention to a wider linguistic context, however, Rammohun opened the door to more suggestive comparisons between Asia and Europe. Trinitarians, he argued, were polytheists like Hindus. Their argument that God is one, but three persons in substance, was analogous to one used by Hindus, who merely multiplied the number of divine substances into the millions. Those who believed Mary to be the “Mother of God” held the same debased idea of God that “rendered the religion of the Hindoos so grossly absurd and contemptible.” Orthodox Christians and Hindus alike were blinded by prejudice to the illogic of the notion that God was one and yet many.26 Two years later Rammohun published his last contribution to the debate with Marshman. The Final Appeal to the Christian Public reveals a honing of Unitarian arguments and rhetorical strategies. Rammohun found additional textual evidence proving to his satisfaction the unscriptural nature of the doctrines of the Trinity and atonement. The tenacity of Trinitarian arguments he again blamed on prejudice imbibed at an early age, adding a subtle reference to Locke: “nothing can more surely impede the progress of truth, than prejudice instilled into minds blank to receive impressions.” This he now suggested was a deliberate effort on the part of the established authorities. Rammohun also broadened his Unitarian appeals to Christian history. It was early Greek and Roman converts who corrupted the original message of Jesus with their polytheism. Fittingly, the Final Appeal contained several references to the Improved Version, which a Liverpudlian had recently sent him.27 A greater eagerness to judge Christian orthodoxy in light of the Indian religious experience pervades the Final Appeal. Rammohun was adamant now that Trinitarianism was a form of the polytheism that he abhorred in orthodox Hinduism. Thus, he denied that Jesus had both a divine and a human nature, just “as I have previously rejected the idea of a mixed nature of God, man, and lion . . . in which Hindoos profess their faith.” He took a jab at missionaries who, as a later chapter indicates, used sati to denounce Hinduism for condoning human sacrifice. If Protestants could argue against transubstantiation that it was based on a literalist reading that endorsed cannibalism, “why should I not be justified upon the same principles,” Rammohun wrote, “in understanding by sacrifice . . . a virtual oblation—that Christianity may not be represented as a religion founded upon the horrible system of human victims?”28 The Final Appeal is something of a confession of faith too. Jesus was the messiah— “the first-born of every creature”—a mortal man holding a “divine commission” who rescued humanity from sin “through his divine precepts and pure example,” but not by sacrificial atonement. Under “the Christian dispensation,” God alone is “the sole object of worship,” and “divine homage,” or reverence, is offered to Jesus for his spiritual guidance and meritorious death. The Holy Spirit is simply God’s influence manifesting itself in humans. The Bible contains no unintelligible mysteries, only a harmony of revelation and reason.29



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These ideas situated Rammohun squarely in the Unitarian camp. The reference to firstborn in creation suggested Arianism. By this date, however, most Unitarians welcomed Arians as fellow anti-Trinitarians, unlike Thomas Belsham who had attempted to exclude Arians from the Unitarian Book Society.30 Indeed, it was that society that published the 1823 and 1824 London editions of Rammohun’s writings from the Precepts controversy.31 Generally, Unitarians accepted that Rammohun held Arian views and stressed the belief he shared with them in the unity of God, who alone was to be worshipped.32 Acknowledging the divine mission of Jesus was also vital to Unitarians.33 Two prominent ministers—Robert Aspland and Lant Carpenter—would cite it as a reason for calling Rammohun a Christian.34 The Appeals thus made explicit what the Precepts had suggested. As news of the controversy with Marshman—and of Rammohun’s role in founding the Calcutta Unitarian Committee—cycled back to Britain, Unitarians rushed to establish contact. An exchange of letters and texts between Britain and Bengal ensued. Unitarians wrote to Rammohun and sent him the Improved Version and Racovian Catechism, among other religious works. Rammohun reciprocated with letters rife with anti-Trinitarian rhetoric, accompanied by copies of his Final Appeal.35 This exchange was of the kind that in an earlier age had spread Socinianism from Holland to England. Here it enhanced Rammohun’s transnational reputation. Unitarians took pleasure in placing Rammohun in the company of Locke, Newton, and Milton. This appeal to celebrity endorsement annoyed critics.36 For their part, Unitarians trumpeted Rammohun’s contributions to their cause. Some lauded the Second Appeal; others thought the Final Appeal more original. Dublin minister W. H. Drummond cited both in a volume dedicated to the Bengali. One person pleaded for a duodecimo edition of Rammohun’s works to facilitate distribution among students.37 One reason for this celebration was the conviction among Unitarians that Rammohun had vindicated them. J. Scott Porter gave direct expression to this. The Appeals offered crucial testimony in favor of Unitarianism, according to the Belfast minister. Recalling the long controversy over the Trinity in Britain, Porter noted how Isaac Watts, despairing of the role of prejudice in those disputes, had wished to submit the whole matter “to the arbitration of some conscientious Turk or Indian.” Watts’ wish had been granted, Porter noted, and Unitarians could be grateful. The experiment has been made. Its result has been such, as the friends of Unitarianism had long predicted. Rammohun Roy answers to all the conditions proposed. He is the Indian contemplated by Doctor Watts. After the fullest and most impartial examination, he has published to the world his conviction that the doctrine of the Trinity is not to be found in the Bible; and that the Scriptures are uniformly and decidedly Unitarian. The weight of this testimony is great. In my judgment, it deserves a place among the presumptive arguments in favour of Unitarian Christianity.38

It was not only Unitarians who saw Rammohun as this neutral umpire. As we saw in the last chapter, Marshman worried that the Precepts would be welcomed as “the testimony of an intelligent and unprejudiced Heathen.” Other Trinitarians accepted the notion that Rammohun had arrived at Rational Dissenting views through his own study of the Bible.39 Widespread interest in Rammohun’s views on Christianity suggests that this story line gained currency throughout Britain. According to James Silk Buckingham, the Final Appeal—“one of the most powerful defences of Unitarianism”—could be found “in almost every theological library” in Britain.40





Evidence from secular periodicals suggests this was not mere hyperbole. Alexander’s East India Magazine praised “the genius, learning, argument, and energy” that Rammohun employed in his “memorable controversy” about the Trinity. Unitarians, it suggested, might be right to claim triumph for the Bengali in that debate.41 The Liverpool Chronicle noted his conversion to Christianity and added that his Unitarian writings gave “decisive evidence” of proficiency in Greek and Hebrew.42 The Satirist took notice of the arrival in London of the author of the “very ingenious” Precepts and indicated that his religious views “approach the nearest to Unitarianism.”43 In 1831, the Literary Gazette published a belated review of the 1824 London edition of Rammohun’s works, along with the illustration of him from that edition. The author apologized for deviating from the magazine’s policy of avoiding theological disputes by pointing to Rammohun as “a person of great public interest” currently in London. This interest stemmed primarily from his stature as “a profound scholar” and convert to Protestantism. Rammohun was creating “a very great sensation in the Christian world” by skillfully maintaining the doctrine of the unity of God, and he was said to be revising his works for publication in London. Surely, the reviewer suggested, the “brightest ornaments” of the established church would have to respond.44 Whether any Anglican theologian responded to the challenge is not clear. The Missionary Register—official organ of the Church Missionary Society—did, however, print brief notices of Rammohun’s presence in Britain. The rhetorical strategy in these was straightforward. There was no need to debate someone who denied the “characteristic truths” of the gospels and thus was not a Christian.45 After his death, secular papers continued to bestow attention on Rammohun’s views about Christianity. The Court Journal and Asiatic Journal criticized sectarians— including Unitarians—for claiming Rammohun when in fact he had no faith in any particular creed. Still, both journals acknowledged his rejection of the Trinity, along with Hindu polytheism, for being contrary to plain reason and scripture.46 For its part, the Gentleman’s Magazine recycled a biographical sketch of Rammohun that Lant Carpenter had published in the Bristol Mercury. Among the passages it borrowed was one advising readers interested in Rammohun’s “Christian belief ” to read the Second Appeal which is distinguished by the closeness of his reasonings, the extent and critical accuracy of his scriptural knowledge, the comprehensiveness of his investigations, the judiciousness of his arrangement, the lucid statement of his own opinions, and the acuteness and skill with which he controverts the positions of his opponents.47

In 1839 a Dublin newspaper referred to Rammohun as “the ablest Unitarian writer of any age” whose denial of the divinity of Jesus “will put the best Protestant theologian in Europe to his wits end to refute.”48 This nonsectarian testimony made it easier for Unitarians to accord Rammohun a triumphant reception. In Liverpool those “anxious to see him” and discuss scriptures kept him in “a constant state of bustle and excitement” to the point that he “was worn out with company.”49 When he attended Paradise Street Chapel, congregants thronged to catch a glimpse of Rammohun after services. They compelled their guest to give an impromptu oration that went on for nearly an hour until one of his hosts stood on a chair and pleaded with the crowd to let him retire.50 London Unitarians abandoned all sense of reserve too. Harriet Martineau wrote of anticipating “for weeks” the Bengali’s expected attendance at the 1831 annual meeting of Unitarians in the capital. On the



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appointed day, the meeting place was so crowded that people stood up on benches to catch a glimpse of him, and afterward, a “hundred [l]adies” pressed for an introduction. Martineau herself was enraptured by his presence: “There is something about Rammohun Roy that melts one irresistibly.” With great and spontaneous enthusiasm, she added, a resolution of welcome “to the illustrious stranger” was passed. Among the speeches was one by John Bowring comparing Rammohun to Peter the Great.51 Bowring’s speech also contained the obligatory allusions to Milton and Newton, and added Plato and Socrates for good measure. Such gushing perplexed the honoree, who asked Robert Aspland for clarification. Aspland—chair of the meeting—explained by alluding to the appeal of Watts and Tomkins for a neutral umpire. “Our illustrious friend” from Bengal, Aspland stated, exemplified a mind freeing itself from entrenched error; moreover, he was “one of the best and most disinterested judges of the claims of Unitarianism to be the original Christian doctrine.”52 Unitarians flocked to Rammohun in private too. A Glaswegian reported waiting at the Bengali’s London hotel “with as much patience, as any good boy did for a reward,” for a chance to meet “one of the greatest men now living.”53 Many others met him at Unitarian social events.54 Henry Crabb Robinson wrote in his diary of a London dinner party where Rammohun was the guest of honor and the attendees—“a very respectable company of Unitarians”—included Bowring, William J. Fox, and Harriet Martineau, among others.55 Eager to host him were Unitarian women, such as Ann Kiddell and Catherine Castle, aunt and niece, who repeatedly invited Rammohun to visit them in Bristol. Initially disappointed, they had to content themselves with a full-length portrait by H. P. Briggs (see figure 3.2). Commissioned by Castle, Briggs’ portrait was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1832.56 Finally, in 1833 the pair managed to have Rammohun as their guest at Castle’s estate, where—shortly before he died—a major party was held in his honor and religion was the main topic of conversation.57 Other Unitarian hosts were Elizabeth Reid and Lucy Aikin, two pioneers in the women’s movement. Their special interest in Rammohun is the subject of a later chapter. Both shared in the general desire to meet the famous Bengali. Reid invited Rammohun to at least three soirees.58 Aikin hosted Rammohun at her Hampstead salon more than once. One of those who met him in Hampstead in 1831 was Joanna Baillie. Baillie had just published a defense of Arianism and engaged Rammohun in theological discussion.59 The effort made by the aged William Roscoe to meet Rammohun in Liverpool illustrates the phenomenon. The distinguished Unitarian and civic activist had in his youth made a private compilation of the moral teachings of Jesus from the New Testament. Reading the Precepts prompted Roscoe to write an admiring letter to its author in Calcutta. Upon Rammohun’s arrival, the bed-ridden Roscoe hosted a grand reception in his Liverpool home, where he delighted in showing the Bengali his own version of the precepts of Jesus. According to an eyewitness report, the Liverpudlian “wished more to see him [Rammohun] than any other person living, and was so much excited that his children feared for the effects.”60 Mobbing Rammohun—albeit in abstentia—was a transatlantic phenomenon, thanks to an emergent Unitarian community in the United States. The circulation of heterodoxy to North America during Priestley’s era bore important fruit, as the confluence of imported British ideas (and people) and a liberal rationalist movement in New England Calvinism resulted in a new denomination after 1819. That year William Ellery Channing delivered his famous discourse, “Unitarian Christianity,” at the ordination of Jared Sparks in Baltimore. Many see this sermon as the founding document





Figure 3.2 Portrait of Rammohun Roy (1774–1833), 1832 (oil on canvas), by Henry Perronet Briggs (1792–1844). © Bristol City Museum and Art Gallery, UK/Bridgeman Art Library International.


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of American Unitarianism. From then on, Channing and the liberal rationalists increasingly accepted the label of Unitarian, and American Unitarianism began to assume its distinctive form.61 The new denomination quickly forged ties with anti-Trinitarians abroad. This brought Rammohun Roy to their attention. After his conversion, William Adam opened a correspondence with Sparks, Channing, and others, seeking support for the Calcutta Unitarian Committee. An exchange of letters between Rammohun and American Unitarians ensued from about 1822 onward. Mission work in India was a major theme of this correspondence. Although Rammohun discouraged missionary activity, news about Calcutta Unitarianism and the controversy with Marshman filled Unitarian periodicals during this period. Adding to the attention was a steady stream of private letters containing news or commentary about Rammohun from correspondents in Bengal and Britain.62 Rammohun’s Vedanta and Unitarian works circulated in the republic. Some came straight from Bengal: Andrews Norton sent to India for copies and got Rammohun to forward the less accessible tracts.63 Also available were the editions produced in Britain, or reprints of these. The avid American practice of reading and republishing British printed works was at work here.64 An example is the 1825 New York edition of the Precepts and first two Appeals. This was taken directly from the Unitarian Society’s 1823 London edition. It too had a frontispiece based on Savignhac’s portrait, engraved by the Boston firm of Annin and Smith.65 Copies of the 1825 edition were advertised for sale alongside other Unitarian works, such as Channing’s ordination sermon.66 As in Britain, the New York edition drew nonsectarian attention. It was reviewed by a secular periodical, which avoided theological matters while examining Rammohun’s fame as a Vedantin and Unitarian controversialist.67 There was also extensive commentary on Rammohun’s religious views in the American periodical press. The transnational phenomenon of recycling articles and information from domestic and foreign journals was critical here. As in colonial India, U.S. editors relied on newsprint generated elsewhere. Imperial networks and established patterns of exchange ensured that much of the recycled material came from Britain, both in South Asia and North America. The case of India is discussed in chapter 6. In the young republic, widespread cribbing meant that intense attention to Rammohun found its way from London journals to Boston and New York papers.68 His conversion of William Adam was one subject of deep interest.69 Another was the question whether Rammohun was a Christian. American Baptists joined their British counterparts in denying him that title. Anti-Trinitarians in the republic followed those Britons who saw in the Precepts and Appeals decisive proof that “the celebrated Rammohun Roy” had adopted their faith.70 In the thick of all this stood the Christian Register. Between 1822 and 1835 the Boston weekly brought Rammohun to the attention of readers nearly 150 times, printing previously published reports, extracts of private letters, reviews, commentaries, and ads concerning Rammohun and his Unitarian work and writings.71 The editor, David Reed, was keen on missions in India. He corresponded with Rammohun on the subject, using the Bengali’s reply to argue that orthodox missionaries were harming the cause by preaching orthodox doctrines.72 Reed joined combat with those who denied that Rammohun was a Christian.73 In 1822 he printed extensive extracts from the Second Appeal—“this extraordinary production”—and praised its author for his intellect and “wonderful knowledge of the scriptures, and critical skill in interpreting passages of difficult meaning.”74 Reed ran ads announcing that copies of the image of “this celebrated man” could be purchased





in his journal’s offices.75 Whether sales were good is unknown. If not, this was no fault of the Christian Register, which continued to print or reprint articles gushing with praise for Rammohun as a trophy convert worth a thousand lesser converts and “the most remarkable individual in the literary world now living.”76 Reed also produced another edition of Rammohun’s publications from the controversy with Marshman. The 1825 New York volume did not contain the Final Appeal, which Reed considered “one of the most able defences now extant, of the pure doctrines of Christianity.”77 In 1828 the Christian Register remedied this by publishing an edition containing the Precepts and all three Appeals.78 The prospectus indicated that the volume could be purchased with or without the author’s engraved likeness. The likeness was made by Annin and Smith, and it closely resembled the one they produced for the 1825 New York edition (see figure 3.3). Prepublication ads contained a testimonial from Joseph Tuckerman that Rammohun was “one of the most remarkable men of this, or any other age.”79 Later ads featured Reed’s retelling of the Bengali’s progression from Vedantin to Christian. This account was conventional in its outlines, including the idea that Rammohun had mastered the discourse of Unitarianism: the Final Appeal, Reed stated, “places him, a Hindoo Brahmin as he is, in the very first rank of Christian Theologians.”80 In 1829 Reed developed doubts whether Rammohun was a Christian.81 This did not stop him from devoting column space to the Bengali, often on the front page. He praised Rammohun for helping abolish sati and for publicizing the legal problems facing Indian women. During Rammohun’s years in Britain, Reed printed or recycled various private and published accounts of the celebrated reception that Britons gave their visitor. Items continued to appear in the Christian Register after Rammohun’s death. Among these was William J. Fox’s sermon arguing that the dearly departed was a Unitarian in the best sense of the term.82 Indicative of Reed’s continued interest was the attention he had devoted to rumors that Rammohun intended to visit the United States.83 Thus did a Bengali reformer become a global celebrity, famed on three continents for his heterodox views of Christianity. Andrews Norton and Ralph Waldo Emerson provide compelling proof of the North American aspect of this. Antagonists in the transcendentalist controversy of the late 1830s, the two were united in their admiration for Rammohun Roy. The Unitarian Norton wrote to Rammohun asking for copies of his works and expressing high regard for the first two Appeals. He relayed an account of a rural Massachusetts man whose religious opinions had been settled by reading Rammohun’s tracts: “A voice from India is heard in the interior of America, and a Brahmin is instructing Christians in their religion.” Norton also alluded to the desire for an honest Turk or Indian to adjudicate the dispute over the Trinity. He thanked his Bengali correspondent for demonstrating what an unbiased reader would learn from the Bible and—in a paraphrase of Martin Tomkins—indicated that Rammohun stood as “an umpire between contending parties.”84 Emerson’s knowledge of the famous Bengali came from reading the Christian Register. Impressed by what he found there, the transcendentalist mimicked Reed in rejoicing that “Unitarians have [in Rammohun] one trophy to build up on the plain where the zealous Trinitarians have builded a thousand.”85 How important a trophy, can be judged by a little known London publication. After Rammohun’s death in 1833, British Unitarians issued the next year three reprint editions of his works from the controversy with Marshman. Two of these were printed by a well-known publisher of Unitarian works. One of these contained an engraving of Rammohun by John William Cook86 (see figure 3.4). Cook’s image recalls the portrait painted by the American Unitarian Rembrandt Peale in 1833 (see figure 3.5). Peale was



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Figure 3.3 Portrait of Rammohun Roy by William Annin and George Smith. Frontispiece to Rammohun Roy, The Precepts of Jesus . . . (Boston: Christian Register Office, 1828). Courtesy of Harris Manchester College Library, Oxford.



Figure 3.4 Portrait of Rammohun Roy by J. W. Cook. Frontispiece to Rammohun Roy, The Precepts of Jesus . . . (London: John Mardon, 1834). Courtesy of Harris Manchester College Library, Oxford.

in Britain for around eight months and may have carried a letter of introduction from Jared Sparks. He and Rammohun developed a friendship, as an extant letter suggests.87 Peale’s portrait and Cook’s image are additional reminders of the debt owed to AngloAmerican Unitarians for the surviving likenesses of Rammohun. The third 1834 volume was the Second Appeal published under a new title, A Treatise on Christian Doctrine.88 This was produced by the British and Foreign Unitarian Association, formed in 1825 under the leadership of Robert Aspland and William J. Fox.89 The new title is revealing. It is the same one used for the 1825 English translation of Milton’s De Doctrina Christiana.90 Obviously, the Second Appeal and De Doctrina Christiana shared a common readership in late Georgian Britain. This readership extended across the Atlantic as well. In 1826, the Christian Examiner printed a major review of Milton’s work and a long defense of Rammohun’s title to being a Christian based on his three Appeals.91 This interest in both writers is no mystery. Rammohun acquired many admirers in the West through his anti-Trinitarian opinions, which became public knowledge at about the same time as did those of John Milton. A blind English poet and a Bengali Vedantin were linked by globalizing processes that circulated heterodoxy along imperial networks of exchange and transformed exemplars of religious dissent into transnational



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Figure 3.5 Portrait of Rammohun Roy, 1833, by Rembrandt Peale. Courtesy of the Peabody Essex Museum, Salem, MA.

celebrities. An American president might have enjoyed similar renown, but for a profound desire to keep religion a private matter. It was Rammohun Roy who was to be the Unitarians’ great trophy, alongside Milton, Locke, and Newton.92

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Rammohun’s admirers could also offer social influence and political connections. Conspicuous in many provincial towns for their civic leadership; at the forefront of 10.1057/9780230111493 - Rammohun Roy and the Making of Victorian Britain, Lynn Zastoupil




civil rights campaigns destined to undo the confessional state; and on long-standing, intimate terms with the Whig leadership, Rational Dissenters were much more than a Protestant denomination by the 1820s. Developments after 1832 demonstrate this. Unitarians, as noted in chapter 1, were elected to national and local political office at an astounding rate, and they helped forge the alliance between Dissenters and Whig reformers that would become a foundation of the Liberal Party. Rammohun Roy’s emergence as a celebrity Unitarian must be read in light of these developments. Doors were opened and possibilities created that transformed a colonial outsider into an imagined member of a new nation in the making. At one level, this was simply a matter of Unitarian contacts providing access to Whig leaders and radical reformers. William Roscoe wrote Rammohun a letter of introduction to Lord Chancellor Brougham,93 and John Bowring was one of those who brought the Bengali reformer into Jeremy Bentham’s circle.94 William Smith, the most politically connected Unitarian of the day, likely provided similar services. His house had often served as a meeting place for Whig leaders, who were probably on the guest lists when Smith extended his dining invitations to Rammohun.95 Such introductions were likely welcome in reforming circles. C. A. Bayly argues that Rammohun belonged to a group of Indian-based constitutional liberals who supported Greek independence, constitutional monarchy in Portugal, a free press in India, and other liberal movements across the globe.96 Rammohun also favored many of the great domestic causes of the Whig-Unitarian alliance. He could recite opposition arguments against standing armies, and he endorsed repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts, Catholic emancipation, the Whig return to power, and constitutional reform.97 Chapter 8 explores a more radical side of Rammohun, one that placed him at odds with most Whigs. This does not mean, however, that he could not find common cause with a party to which so many other Unitarians had allied themselves over the decades. Rammohun certainly adopted the trademark Unitarian habit of moving comfortably in elite Whig circles. A glimpse of this comes through his presence at the social affairs of the countess of Cork. Famous for her literary salon and Whig sympathies, the countess was fast off the mark in lionizing Rammohun at her London house upon his arrival in the capital. The dowager hosted whoever was the talk of the town—royalty, literary and religious figures, scientists, foreign dignitaries—and her interest in Rammohun was unlikely divorced from his fame as a Unitarian controversialist and his sympathetic political views.98 Rammohun’s relationship with the third marquess of Lansdowne is more suggestive of the traditional Whig-Unitarian alliance. William Roscoe had been on close terms with Lord Lansdowne’s father, at whose table he frequently dined and where he met Charles James Fox, Lord Holland, and the future Earl Grey.99 The third marquess served with Holland in Grey’s cabinet (1830–1834) and, as lord president of the privy council, presided over the appeal made by conservative Hindus against the suppression of sati. According to the bishop of Oxford, Lansdowne was “a confessed Unitarian.”100 Both official business and personal interest may have thus induced Lansdowne to visit the celebrated Bengali soon after the latter’s arrival.101 As a later chapter indicates, one reason Rammohun came to Britain was to lobby parliament to uphold the abolition of widow burning. He brought with him a petition to parliament signed by Hindu supporters of abolition. Once in London, Rammohun established a personal rapport with Lansdowne. He called upon the lord president and asked him to present the proabolition petition to the House of Lords. Lansdowne obliged and in his speech mentioned



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Rammohun by name and reiterated the latter’s main arguments against sati.102 Lansdowne also invited Rammohun to attend the privy council sessions when the petition to overturn the ban on sati was heard; according to published reports, Rammohun was given a prominent seat near the privy councilors.103 In a note thanking Lansdowne for the invitation, Rammohun mocked those who were to argue in favor of reversing abolition. The provocative tone suggests that Rammohun was on very secure grounds with his audience. R. R. will not fail to be present . . . to witness personally the scene in which an English Gentleman (or Gentlemen) of highly liberal education professing Christianity is to pray for the re-establishment of suicide, and in many instances, actual murder.104

As with other Unitarians, Rammohun’s circle of contacts reached to the royal family. George Fitzclarence, the illegitimate son of the duke of Clarence, had met Rammohun while stationed in India. At the time, Fitzclarence had written favorably of Rammohun’s struggle to reform Hinduism and of his desire to one day visit England. He also recorded Rammohun’s opposition to a standing army. When his father became King William IV, Fitzclarence became earl of Munster. According to an anonymous Unitarian clergyman in London, the earl was rumored to be in line for a dukedom and the governorgeneralship of India, and was also singing the praises of Rammohun in the capital.105 After serving in India, Munster developed orientalist interests. He helped found the Royal Asiatic Society and took special interest in translations of Indian works, including the Vedas, about which he corresponded with H. H. Wilson.106 If there was truth to the rumor about the Indian appointment, the possibility may have inclined Munster to reestablish a relationship with the famous Bengali, now in Britain, and, as chapter 7 explores, widely regarded as an expert on India. If so, there are echoes here of Lord Shelburne (later, first marquess of Lansdowne) reaching out to another celebrated Unitarian—Joseph Priestley—during the 1770s, when the future prime minister was a rising star in opposition politics and Priestley useful for his skill with a pen and his contacts with Dissenters.107 More significant is Rammohun’s relationship with the duke of Sussex. The duke was at odds with his brothers George IV and William IV throughout his life. Years living on the continent gave Sussex a radical temperament and liberal intellectual interests that distinguished him from most of his siblings. He served as president of the Royal Society and was prominent in charitable organizations. Theology was one of the duke’s deep interests. He once gave a speech in the House of Lords laced with references to doctrinal disputes in the medieval church. His library of over 50,000 volumes included several hundred different versions of the Bible, many of them rare first editions or translations into languages such as Hindi and Bengali.108 After his death, published reports claimed that he held heterodox religious opinions, and his universalist views and distrust of all creeds as human inventions lends support to this. The duke became the darling of reformers and was on close terms with the Whig leadership. Among the causes he supported were abolition of the slave trade, repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts, Catholic and Jewish emancipation, parliamentary reform, and repeal of the Corn Laws. When the duke was in, Kensington Palace became a great gathering place. According to the Morning Chronicle, “At his soirees were to be seen all that was distinguishable in science, art and literature, natives and foreigners . . . Nothing like these parties had ever before been known in this country.” The Unitarian diarist Henry Crabb Robinson





estimated that several hundred people were present the night he came to see one of the Schlegel brothers.109 The duke of Sussex’s political causes were ones dear to Unitarians. At the banquet celebrating the repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts, the duke was the guest of honor and he raised a glass to William Smith. His toast was returned by Robert Aspland, whose conspicuous role in the repeal campaign earned him that honor. In his speech Aspland called for the end of all civil disabilities, including those keeping non-Anglicans out of Cambridge and Oxford. These comments earned Aspland high marks from the duke as well as Lord Holland, who invited him to Holland House to discuss the university question. For his part, the duke spoke warmly of Aspland thereafter. He also read with interest the volume of sermons that the Unitarian presented to him, making notes in the margin that, according to Aspland’s biographer, proved the duke’s heterodoxy.110 Rammohun Roy enjoyed similar access. The duke presided over the 1831 annual dinner of the Royal Asiatic Society, to which Rammohun had been specially invited. In his remarks, Sussex referred to the Bengali as “his friend.”111 A letter confirms that they were on good terms and Rammohun no stranger to Kensington Palace. This is pasted inside the duke’s presentation copy of the 1832 London edition of Rammohun’s Vedanta and sati essays. In it Rammohun states that he presented two of his other publications to the duke, but does not name these. Given the duke’s collection of Bibles, interest in doctrinal disputes, and heterodox opinions, it is hard to imagine that some version or another of the Precepts and Appeals was not one of these.112 How far did the Whig-Unitarian alliance take Rammohun? For many Rational Dissenters, the next step might have been political office at the local or national level. The first was unlikely for a visitor from Calcutta. A seat in parliament, however, was another matter. This possibility was raised while Rammohun was in London and he gave it serious consideration. Before this can be explored, additional reasons for his celebrity status need examination, including the attention he received through the antisati campaign. Here it is sufficient to point out that Rammohun followed the trajectory of other prominent Unitarians who moved from sectarian activism to political influence and public office. The last never happened in Rammohun’s case, but the idea was broached. This imagining of a Bengali MP is highly significant. In an era when the boundaries of the political nation were being redrawn, Unitarians—at the forefront of the struggle to dismantle the confessional state—were transitioning from outsiders to insiders. Rammohun Roy is part of their story.



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Slavery and Sati

Abolitionism has a distinct place in the story of the making of modern Britain. The campaigns against the slave trade and slavery brought the religious conviction of Quakers, evangelicals, and others into the political mainstream, introduced the idea of a national lobby, demonstrated how outside pressure could be brought to bear effectively on parliament, and revealed the power of a moral crusade.1 Antislavery also refashioned the national identity. As Linda Colley and David Brion Davis argue, abolitionism fostered a sense of moral superiority that gave Britons confidence in a “mission to lead the world.”2 The “idea that Britain should set a moral lead to the world” would prove lasting; as Brian Harrison notes, it informed various reform movements from antislavery onward, including the one for nuclear disarmament.3 Vital here is the fact that the campaigns against the slave trade and slavery became models. Victorians adopted tactics first employed or perfected by abolitionists, shared their sense of being moral crusaders, and took inspiration from the long and difficult, but eventually successful struggle to end slavery. Staple tactics of later reformers that antislavery activists pioneered or revitalized included using paid lecturers; publishing single-issue journals; collecting pledges; circulating petitions to parliament; and creating national networks of local societies—including exclusively female ones—to generate public pressure.4 Victorians tended to view abolition as a moral crusade or found inspiration in the lonely struggles of early abolitionists, as the examples of Richard Cobden, J. S. Mill, and Josephine Butler demonstrate.5 Harrison argues for the vital part played by antislavery in the emergence of a “heroic British reforming tradition,” one that encouraged individuals to take up an endless stream of good causes.6 A key feature of this tradition was the constant spillover of individuals into new causes. William Wilberforce and T. F. Buxton were founding members of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals in 1824.7 Four years later Buxton joined Thomas Clarkson and William Allen at the opening meeting of the Society for the Diffusion of Information on the Subject of Capital Punishments. The participation of these prominent abolitionists in other humanitarian movements might well be explained by Bentham’s oft-quoted statement on animal rights: “We have begun by attending to the condition of slaves, we shall finish by softening that of all the animals which assist our labours or supply our wants.”8 Examples of nineteenth-century reformers moving



Chapter 4


through a long series of causes are legend. Joseph Sturge supported the peace movement, antislavery, anti-Corn Law agitation, Chartism, complete suffrage, and adult education.9 Elizabeth Pease Nichol’s list of causes included antislavery, anti-Corn Law activism, Chartism, temperance, abolition of religious tests, higher education for women, and medical reform.10 George Thompson has been described as “the archetype of the midVictorian professional reformer,” who began as an abolitionist lecturer in the 1830s, went on to a host of other causes, including temperance, the Peace Society, anti-Corn Law agitation, and land reform in India, before settling down as editor of a general reform newspaper.11 Samuel Gurney the younger served in 1864 on the executive committees of eleven philanthropic bodies. Howard Temperley uses Gurney’s example to demonstrate how the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society was integrated into “a great complex of organizations, many of them with interlocking committees, devoted to education, peace, temperance, universal suffrage, women’s rights, free trade, prison reform, religious conversion, famine relief and innumerable other worthy causes.”12 Part of this story is the nurturing of Victorian activism that took place in domestic and social circles devoted to abolition. This was often the case with women, where family ties to abolition could be an indicator of future activism. Mary Carpenter and Elizabeth Blackwell were both reared in Bristol by fathers opposed to slavery, while Barbara Leigh Smith Bodichon’s grandfather, William Smith, had played an important role for over two decades in the campaign against the slave trade.13 Emmeline Pankhurst grew up in an antislavery family and as a child went to bed listening to stories crafted by her mother from Uncle Tom’s Cabin.14 Josephine Butler’s family were abolitionists and she turned to the history of antislavery for inspiration when dispirited in 1875.15 Eleanor Rathbone came from a family that supported nearly every major nineteenth-century reform cause in Liverpool dating back to the campaign against the slave trade.16 As a teenager Harriet Martineau fell under the sway of Mary Carpenter’s abolitionist father, Lant Carpenter.17 Quaker families and social circles were noteworthy for producing female activists. Elizabeth Pease Nichol worked with her father, Joseph Pease, on the campaign against slavery in South Asia; Eliza Cropper was the daughter of one leading Quaker antislavery activist and husband of another; and Elizabeth Heyrick, whose 1824 pamphlet Immediate, Not Gradual Abolition, galvanized abolitionists, belonged to a Quaker circle of prominent antislavery activists in the Leicester area.18 Indeed, antislavery is important for the emergence of Victorian feminism, as Clare Midgley has argued. It provided women with new opportunities for public activism and political involvement. Women were active with financial and moral support in the crusade against the slave trade. In 1825 the first female antislavery society was founded in Birmingham, followed by many others in a national network of local societies during the great campaigns of 1825–1838. Many of these societies were founded by women themselves, who raised and disbursed significant funds. Women gave speeches, wrote poetry, published important tracts, and edited journals to promote the cause. In massive numbers they signed national petitions against slavery and the apprenticeship system in 1833 and 1838. And they introduced or actively sponsored novel strategies such as abstention from slave-produced products, employing paid traveling agents, and door-todoor canvassing.19 Such activism reinforced and challenged conventional notions of gender roles. Many women were motivated by a sense of responsibility for domestic affairs and ideas of feminine compassion. Crusading against slavery was an extension of a presumed female duty to protect the weak and a special ability to feel for others. The plight of slave women



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and children were thus women’s particular concern. They contrasted the condition of female slaves and slave families with the conditions that British (middle-class) women and their families took for granted. They crafted powerful images of enslaved women as passive victims enduring physical and sexual abuse, and of families brutalized by degraded slave owners, images meant to elicit from British women a well-defined sense of philanthropic duty. But abolitionism also led some women beyond traditional gender roles. Elizabeth Heyrick’s call for immediate emancipation, supported by abstention from sugar, resonated with female audiences increasingly convinced that the male-dominated campaign for gradual abolition was a failure. Heyrick and others developed strategies for by-passing the men who controlled the antislavery movement. One was to utilize the network of female abolitionist societies to press for immediate emancipation; the first society to go on record with the new demand was the Sheffield Female Anti-Slavery Society in 1827. Another was to exert financial pressure on the men running the Anti-Slavery Society, which the Female Society for Birmingham did with success in 1830. More generally, they took the message of immediate emancipation to the street and helped arouse the public demand for action. Above all, they politicized the domestic sphere, transforming women’s responsibility for household consumption and tea-party sociability into a political base capable of major boycotts. In this and later antislavery activities, Midgley argues, British women acted in protofeminist ways. They challenged male authority over the direction of policy and asserted their independence; they helped fashion a national political movement that pioneered strategies for mobilizing public opinion; they organized their own local societies and created national networks of contacts and associations; and they politicized domesticity and developed gendered arguments regarding important public issues.20 These linked stories of antislavery, humanitarianism, and female activism provide another clue to Rammohun Roy’s transnational celebrity. This becomes evident once a fourth narrative is introduced. The movement to abolish sati (suttee) in India parallels the antislavery campaigns in key respects. It too witnessed shifting goals and campaign strategies before final success, and it provided inspiration at a moment of indecision in the history of antislavery. The campaign against a perceived form of human sacrifice tapped into and energized the humanitarian conscience. It reinforced activist tendencies to take up multiple causes, opening up South Asia to the moral imagination of some reformers and encouraging others to apply lessons learned there to domestic causes. Women in Britain found opportunities for public participation in the anti-sati campaign, which raised gender issues of violence and legal injustice. The movement to suppress widow burning also brought the name, ideas, and deeds of Rammohun Roy to the attention of slavery abolitionists, humanitarians, and early feminists in Britain. Adding to his renown as a religious controversialist, anti-sati activists helped forge the idea that Rammohun was a partner in the moral crusades and spirit of reform sweeping through early nineteenth-century Britain. Much has been written about sati, the colonial campaign against it, and the prominent role played by Rammohun before and after its abolition in 1829.21 Most of the attention has been directed at the situation in Bengal, and similarities to the campaign against slavery have largely been ignored. This chapter reestablishes connections between these two movements that peaked at roughly the same momentous point in British history. Chapter 5 then situates Rammohun’s fame in the context of those forgotten ties. The colonial context in which both slavery and sati were situated is important. Slavery and the slave trade were integral to the first British empire and were actively pursued



SLAVERY AND SATI


by private individuals and encouraged by the state. The practice of sati predates British power in India, but, as Ashi Nandy argued in a classic essay, it resurged in Bengal after British rule was established.22 Moreover, sati was condoned by East India Company officials in ways suggestive of a common eighteenth-century attitude about slavery. Until the 1760s slavery in the New World was widely viewed as a practical way to overcome labor shortages and thus necessary for economic growth and national prosperity.23 For Company officials, tolerating a custom seemingly rooted in ancient practices, enjoined by sacred texts, and enjoying popular support was no less an act of colonial pragmatism. Keenly aware that their fledgling Raj rested upon the good opinion of the people they ruled, the Company developed a broad tolerance of Indian social customs and religious practices summed up in the policy of noninterference. It responded to humanitarian pressure in the same way that defenders of the slave trade and slavery did, raising the specter of revolt as the consequence of rash intervention, a parallel in strategies that Wilberforce noticed in parliament in 1813.24 Throughout the 1820s, Company officials insisted that abandoning a liberal policy of respecting a religiously sanctioned practice would inflame public opinion and jeopardize British rule.25 The campaigns to end slavery and sati shared a similar moral sensibility rooted in a common religious impulse. To be sure, secular arguments regarding the superiority of free labor and distress at the suffering of women were important factors. But the preeminent role played by evangelicals and Dissenters in both movements is legend, and the fact is that the campaigns against slavery and sati became moral crusades. The conviction that slavery was a sin and a blot on the British national honor ran parallel to the belief that toleration of sati entailed participation in a crime offensive to both God and humanity.26 This explains why religious activists in one campaign could easily lend their support to the other. Clarkson, Wilberforce, and Buxton—all prominent figures in the antislavery movement—also drew public attention to sati, the latter two in parliamentary debates between 1813 and 1825.27 Buxton’s interest in widow burning was stirred by the missionary and anti-sati activist James Peggs, who took up the antislavery cause in India during the 1840s.28 The overlap between the two campaigns was evident in 1823, when—during the same session of parliament—Buxton introduced the first parliamentary motion calling for the (gradual) abolition of slavery and presented the first petition to parliament calling for the suppression of sati.29 The clash of imperial pragmatism and moral outrage produced similar results in both campaigns. Those in authority sought to appease humanitarian sentiments by appealing to the prospect of eventual abolition while cautioning against rash action that endangered imperial interests. In the case of slavery, the hope that ending the supply of slaves would eventually end slavery—though soon shown to be illusory—contributed to the conviction that the institution was on the road to extinction. Abolitionists thus concentrated on ameliorating the condition of slaves after the trade was ended in 1807. The first measure that many embraced was slave registration, introduced in 1812. The idea was to accumulate accurate data regarding the number of slaves and their condition, to prevent illegal importations, to inhibit mistreatment, and to ensure the legal status of freed persons. The measure met with stiff opposition from the West Indian lobby, which stalled a central registration system until 1820. Nonetheless, a door had been opened for government intervention.30 When abolitionists sought to push that door further open, as Buxton did in his 1823 motion—which called for the immediate emancipation of all children born to slave parents after a date to be determined—those in power demurred. Acknowledging the desirability of eventually ending slavery, George Canning stated



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the government’s position that abolition could come only when it was “compatible with the well-being of the slaves themselves, with the safety of the colonies, and with a fair and equitable consideration of the interests of private property.”31 This vague commitment to emancipation was designed to appease abolitionists while reassuring the West Indies lobby that it was a mere “political expedient needed to keep the humanitarians at bay.”32 There are clear parallels to the situation regarding sati at this time. After mostly ignoring widow burning for the first half-century of its rule in Bengal, the East India Company reluctantly addressed sati with a mindset remarkably similar to Canning’s in 1823. In 1789 the Calcutta government recorded an initial opinion that sati was legal under Hindu law, adding that it trusted that the “repugnant” custom would slowly disappear as Hindus “discern the fallacy of the principles which have given rise to this practice.”33 In 1805, however, Calcutta requested a legal opinion on the textual basis of sati in Hindu law and broached for the first time the possibility of abolishing or at least regulating the practice.34 Nothing was done until 1813, when the Calcutta authorities issued their first instructions. Additional regulations followed in 1815 that included the collection of annual statistics on the number of satis. The regulations of 1813 and 1815 remained in effect until abolition in 1829. They restricted sati to circumstances sanctioned by Hindu sacred texts, as interpreted by the Company’s pandits. Sati was forbidden for women younger than sixteen; for those pregnant, under the influence of intoxicants, or coerced; and for those with young children, unless support for these had been arranged. Other restrictions were imposed regarding when satis could take place.35 As with slave registration, this limited form of interference balanced imperial pragmatism with moral outrage by looking to the promise of gradual abolition. By restricting sati to those cases supported by Hindu scriptures, the Company could maintain its policy of noninterference, ensure that especially inhumane or even murderous practices were ended, and proclaim its trust that the diffusion of Western education and modern knowledge would gradually undermine Indian support for the custom. Not surprisingly, the policy met with approval in London from Canning.36 The Company was moved to action by requests for guidance from local officials wishing to prevent satis in cases involving adolescent or pregnant wives, or women with small children.37 Baptist missionaries and evangelicals also played a critical role. They gathered data on the incidence of sati and critically examined the scriptural texts supporting the practice. They raised the issue at home in parliament and in missionary publications during the period 1812–1813, when the Company’s charter was up for renewal. It is likely that the 1813 and 1815 regulations were drafted with an eye toward appeasing humanitarian sentiment.38 Reliance on ameliorative measures such as slave registration and the sati regulations would give way to demands for decisive action. By the mid-1820s, many antislavery activists believed that piecemeal reforms were of little value in the face of obstructionist tactics by the West Indian planters and their parliamentary allies. Important here were reports on the conditions of slaves that illuminated the continued misery of enslaved Africans. A slave rebellion in Demerara, and the harsh repression that followed, added to the sense of urgency.39 The founding of the Anti-Slavery Society in 1823, with its commitment to emancipation, albeit gradually, marks the change in attitude. Elizabeth Heyrick’s 1824 pamphlet calling for immediate abolition gave radical voice to the sentiment in favor of parliamentary action. Over the next decade, antislavery activists toured the country, magazines exposing the evils of slavery proliferated, provincial antislavery



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organizations sprang into existence, and petitions advocating emancipation flooded into parliament. As noted, women emerged as important public actors during this phase of the campaign, founding their own societies, mobilizing another abstention campaign, and leading the demand for immediate emancipation. These efforts bore fruit: by 1830, as James Walvin notes, “the extent and depth of anti-slavery feeling [in Britain] is difficult to overstress.”40 This was not, however, a seamless campaign steadily gaining strength and culminating in an explosion of public opinion in the early 1830s. Davis notes that in 1826 and 1827, antislavery was sunk in “a state of lethargy and hopelessness,” and that another two years of bitter internal debates followed. Among the most contentious issues were whether to bring public pressure to bear on parliament and what type of legislative intervention to demand.41 It was only after 1830 that a consensus emerged in favor of immediate abolition, an idea that provided the spark for the final massive effort to persuade parliament to act. In the eyes of one contemporary, the change after 1830 was so stark as to mark a revolution, one in step with the overthrow of Old Corruption.42 Why the change? Some attribute it to outrage at reports of persecution of missionary antislavery activists in the West Indies, along with growing anger at the various means by which West Indies planters evaded or obstructed slave regulations.43 Others credit the activities of the Agency Committee, a group of young activists instrumental in giving a radical tone to the movement and its tactics. The Agency Committee promoted the idea that slavery was a sin and as such should be abolished immediately. This simple message galvanized the antislavery campaign, lifting it above the parliamentary maneuvers of Old Corruption into the realm of a religious crusade, thus freeing abolitionists from the restraints of Canningite pragmatism.44 The campaign against sati peaked in the late 1820s, at the moment when antislavery was in the doldrums. Indeed, anti-sati activists anticipated what was to transpire shortly thereafter in antislavery. They kept attention focused on a simple moral fact (sati is evil). They made special appeals to women45 and helped pioneer the tactic of female petitions. And they found a way to cut the Gordian knot surrounding the issues of imperial security and moral evil. Before slavery abolitionists discovered in the sinfulness of slavery sufficient reason to act, sati abolitionists demonstrated that humane intervention in the colonies was perfectly safe. Immediate, not gradual, abolition was the cry of the antisati lobby by the late 1820s,46 a cry met by the criminalization of sati in 1829 without incident. It may be coincidence that the successful conclusion of the campaign against sati was quickly followed by an explosion of antislavery activity. The interest in sati that some antislavery activists had long shown gives reason to think otherwise. As we shall see, anti-sati campaigners organized in 1829 a society to suppress human sacrifice in India, which launched a nation-wide effort to petition parliament for the speedy abolition of sati, infanticide, and the like. Among contributors to this society were the slavery abolitionists Buxton and Joseph Sturge.47 Buxton had taken an early interest in sati and thought it “a stain upon the B[ritish] name.” His private papers indicate that he considered making its abolition one of his life’s missions. As indicated, he introduced in 1823 the first parliamentary bill to end sati. He remained interested in the issue thereafter, enough so that some contemporaries thought him responsible for the suppression of sati in 1829. News of the latter reached Britain in the spring of 1830 and energized Buxton. In speeches before the Church Missionary Society and in Commons, Buxton seized



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It is a matter of the most sincere & I think just gratification to me that the practice of burning widows . . . has been abolished, & that hitherto at least no evils have resulted from that act of humanity. The natives appear to understand our motives & to submit quietly to our decision—& thus without convulsion or bloodshed, a practice has been extinguished, revolting to human nature.48

That same spring, Buxton announced his strong support for “bolder measures” against slavery in a letter citing suppression of sati as “comforting” news.49 What exactly Buxton meant by bolder measures in March of 1830 is not obvious. What is clear, however, is that he and other antislavery activists soon employed tactics and ideas that the campaign against sati had successfully wielded against moral compromise sanctioned in the name of empire. Jörg Fisch notes that the British campaign against sati escalated after 1818 and reached its high point between 1828 and 1829.50 Baptist missionaries were crucial actors in this. The first major pamphlet on the subject in Britain was published by William Johns, a medical officer and Baptist missionary in training expelled by the East India Company in 1813.51 While not calling for outright abolition, Johns’ 1816 pamphlet set an example for later works in terms of tone, organization of evidence, and even title page layout. More important was Johns’ fellow Serampore missionary, William Ward. Ward’s was an early voice against sati in Bengal, and beginning in 1813 missionary magazines in Britain repackaged his accounts to highlight the need for missions. Initially, Ward was reluctant to call for decided intervention, contenting himself with what Lata Mani calls a matter-of-fact descriptive approach that contrasted with the missionary magazines’ portrayal of Hindu horrors.52 Ward’s attitude soon changed. In 1817 and 1820 a messy53 third edition of Ward’s multivolume A View of the History, Literature, and Religion of the Hindoos appeared in London, and Ward released a more orderly edition in 1822. The tone in these editions, as Mani demonstrated, is decidedly different.54 Ward joined the missionary magazines in depicting sati as a shocking example of the barbaric practices of a superstitious and idolatrous people. Viewing it as a form of human sacrifice, Ward traced sati’s prevalence to the condition of Hindu women. He now felt confident challenging the policy of noninterference, asking rhetorically “shall these [sati] fires never be put out?” and answering “Forbid it, British Power! Forbid it, British humanity!”55 Ward made a fundraising tour through Britain in 1819 and 1820. Sati figured prominently in his lectures. Versions of some of these lectures were published as letters to correspondents in an 1821 volume; that same year he published a letter on sati in the Times.56 In his published letters, Ward reiterated his argument that sati was a prime example of Hindu depravity and made explicit appeals to British women to take up the cause. He included newly available information regarding the numbers of satis in Bengal.57 The data Ward cited was generated by the 1815 regulations. The first statistics were published by parliament in July 1821 and new returns followed on a regular basis throughout the 1820s.58 The early data suggested that British regulation had led to a dramatic increase in the number of satis.59 Moreover, the highest incidence rate seemed to be in the immediate vicinity of Calcutta. The number of recorded satis peaked in



on the news as proof that action against moral evil could be taken without threatening imperial interests.


1818, then decreased significantly to a constant level in the 1820s.60 The initial impression, however, that regulation was a failure remained strong, perhaps because so many satis took place near the seat of British power. The dissemination of this data, coming as it did fast on the heels of Ward’s volumes and lectures, explains why the first public meeting and petition calling on parliament to prohibit sati took place in 1823, as well as why the next year an unsuccessful attempt was made to alter policy by some of the Company’s directors in London.61 More public meetings and petitions followed in 1825, 1827, 1829, and 1830 (the last before news had reached Britain of the regulation criminalizing sati). These too drew attention to Company data that disproved the idea that widow burning was gradually disappearing, as did speakers addressing parliament and the Company’s Court of Proprietors.62 From 1825 onward, an increasing number of pamphlets and journal articles on the subject also appeared, most expressing outrage at the steady, if not increasing, numbers of sati under Company regulations.63 All this attention led one observer in 1828 to claim that people in Britain thought only of sati when discussing India.64 As Mani has pointed out, by this point the public at home was convinced that the custom should be abolished. Even the Company’s semiofficial organ, the Asiatic Journal, conceded the point.65 A crucial factor was the testimony of observers in India that sati could be safely prohibited. The opinion of various officials favoring interdiction found its way into Company proceedings and debates in London during the 1820s, and from there into parliamentary papers. This official testimony was recycled repeatedly in the pamphlets, speeches, and petitions produced by opponents of sati, who compiled similar comments from missionaries, Indians, and other critics. The consensus of these presumed experts was that sati was not enjoined by sacred texts, that it was not widely practiced, and thus that abolition would not be violently opposed. Many pointed to previous interventions—such as prohibiting infanticide, introducing capital punishment for brahmans, and individual officials acting to prevent satis—as proof that interference would not provoke unrest. Some argued that many Indians would indeed welcome abolition.66 The cumulative effect was a successful challenge to Company claims about the religious nature of sati and the dangers of intervention. The balance of imperial realities and moral principles had come down on the humanitarian’s side. Chapter 5 explores how Rammohun Roy helped tip the balance. Here we need to discuss the fact that winning the British public over had something to do with women. From the start, as Clare Midgley has shown, female participation was as important to the campaign against sati as to the struggle against slavery. Initially, evangelicals used sati and the condition of Indian women to appeal to British women to support missionary activity. As with antislavery, this reflected common attitudes regarding female responsibility for the home and family, and it paralleled efforts to engage middle-class women in domestic philanthropic work among lower-class women and children. This call to save Indian women and children was successful. Missionary societies came to rely on the funds raised by local female auxiliaries, and as early as 1814, one such auxiliary, the Southwark Ladies’ Association, had committed itself to rescuing Hindu women from sati.67 After about 1820, the missionary effort focused on female education as a means to eradicate the presumed superstition and ignorance undergirding sati and other social evils. This drew women further into the mainstream of the sati campaign. Ladies’ societies and auxiliaries turned their fundraising skills to the project of establishing schools for female education in India. One of them—the Ladies Committee of the British and Foreign School Society—also funded and selected the



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first female missionary, Mary Anne Cooke, who was dispatched in 1821 to head a girls school in Calcutta. This was a significant development. Freeing Indian women from what was deemed their ignorance opened a door to new opportunities for British women.68 As Jane Haggis points out, the latter were pushing this door open themselves. The wives of missionaries were challenging limits on their activity, opening schools for girls and articulating the need for a separate missionary establishment devoted to female education in India. This led to the establishment of the Society for the Propagation of Female Education in the East in 1834, which recruited single women to be teachers in India. This effort drew little opposition, largely because missionary wives had already made this seem appropriate. In addition, men felt it inappropriate to recruit and train single women. Finally, the plan was in accord with expanding philanthropic activities for British women, as the career of Elizabeth Fry and the campaign against slavery indicate.69 In short, Haggis argues, during the 1820s and 1830s, “[e]vangelical doctrine and the Woman Question were coming together in new formulations of the most appropriate roles for women and men.” 70 This assessment is shared by others. Midgley notes that the British discourse on sati was dominated by missionaries who needed “to appeal to a female audience.” Their discourse accorded a “central place . . . to the question of female emancipation,” that is, liberating Indian women from their supposed degradation through Western education. But this call for emancipation, Midgley adds, was situated in an imperial and conservative evangelical context that left unchallenged gender roles at home.71 Other appeals to British women to engage with sati, however, came closer to doing just that. This is evident in the petitions against sati that women signed. Until the 1830s, petitioning was a form of pressure politics reserved for men. Prior to that, women occasionally signed petitions against slavery, and there were instances of petitions organized and signed by women alone. But encroachments by women in this area were ridiculed or resisted, as with the 1829 petitions in favor of Catholic emancipation and those supporting parliamentary reform during the period 1830–1832.72 Midgley argues that public attitudes changed only with the massive petitioning drives against slavery and apprenticeship that took place after 1830, when women signed petitions by the hundreds of thousands and organized their own national petition drives. Midgley finds several reasons for the change. One was the precedent set by women who signed petitions against sati in 1829 and 1830.73 Petitioning against sati began in 1823 and reached a peak between 1827 and 1830. The majority of the 107 petitions presented to parliament were organized and signed by men. Some 20 percent were signed by fourteen different groups of women representing various Dissenting congregations and provincial towns.74 In Midgley’s view, these female petitioners were careful not to challenge male authority in the realm of legislative matters, adopting a “humble feminine tone” and couching their action as an extension of their domestic roles. They stressed that their motives were humanitarian, not political, and that they were moved to act by the suffering of women. This followed what advocates of female education in India were doing, using conventional ideas to widen the acceptable sphere of activity for women. But it also recalls the implicit challenge to gender roles raised at this time by antislavery women pressing for immediate abolition. In the case of sati, female petitioners asserted “a public role for British women in moralising the imperial nation and reforming the Empire, based on their particular ability as women to represent the interests of colonised women to the imperial Parliament.”



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Moreover, some petitions may have been inspired by the sense that—as a London pamphlet put it—if men would not act, then British women “ ‘will surely unite to quench this murder and fire.’ ” 75 At the very least, the women who petitioned against sati were pioneers. They did not meet with ridicule and rebuke, as did the women who signed petitions for Catholic emancipation. Theirs was an important first step toward direct participation in the mainstream of British political life, where petitioning parliament was an important privilege and a means of shaping parliamentary debates. In making this a respectable undertaking for women, the sati petitioners opened the door for the massive participation of women in the petition drives against slavery and apprenticeship. If the latter mark “the first large-scale intervention by women in Parliamentary politics,” then the petitioners of 1829 and 1830 were in the vanguard. Although petitioning against sati and slavery, as Midgley notes, did not evolve directly into political self-assertion in Britain as it did in the United States, it surely paved the way.76 Anti-sati activists set this stage by making female participation acceptable as “part of women’s philanthropic mission to women.” 77 The domestic discourse on sati was saturated with images and narrative structures designed to appeal to women and their sense of responsibility for household affairs. As Midgley notes, Wilberforce set the tone in his 1813 speech to parliament, drawing a stark contrast between the fireside pleasures of an idealized British household with the fireside evils of Hindu women burning.78 Later commentators emphasized that sati made children into orphans and more lurid accounts recounted heart-wrenching separations of mothers and children. Often there was mention that the ritual could require a son to light the funeral pyre that would consume his living mother along with his just-deceased father.79 Appeals to a sense of women’s special mission to protect the weak and the helpless were commonplace. These usually were accompanied by narratives of powerless women—including mere adolescents— browbeaten by greedy in-laws and devilish priests, or physically restrained. Accounts of women who jumped from the flames and then were tricked or coerced back onto the pyres received particular attention.80 The strategy was to create emotional images of Indian women as passive (or powerless) victims, and then draw a sharp contrast with the privileged status of (middle-class) women in Britain.81 This was the same strategy that antislavery propagandists were employing, one that owed its success to established patterns of female philanthropy. The result in both cases was the mobilization of philanthropic British women against evil in the colonies.82 William Ward was central to this effort. In his lectures, letters, and books from 1817 to 1822, Ward appealed for action from women in ways suggesting new arenas for their exertions. Ward employed all the usual rhetorical strategies designed to rouse British women into action to protect families and the helpless. He stressed that Hindu women were often physically restrained on the funeral pyres of their husbands and, should they try to escape, beaten back and held down. The fact that sati required sons in mourning for their fathers to light the pyre that would consume their living mothers led Ward to ask, “Who shall count the groans and screams of all these widows in the scorching flames, and the tears of all these orphans?” He pointed out how sacrificial victims could include girls of eight and women of eighty.83 The general condition of Hindu women also drew Ward’s attention. They were little more than household slaves, victimized by systems of early marriage and polygamy, and—because deprived of education—prone to the worst superstitions, including sacrificing their own infants and even themselves.84 The degraded condition of women in Hindu society served as Ward’s focal point in appealing to British women. His letter to the Times was addressed to the ladies of



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Liverpool and the United Kingdom, and elsewhere he called on women to form associations to agitate against sati.85 Ward asked female readers to contrast their privileged lives with the lot of their sisters in India.86 He called on the “benevolent females” who supported Bible societies to “make the case of their sex in India a common cause,” to “become the guardians of these Ten Thousand orphans surrounding these funeral piles,” to raise up Indian women who would earn future honor as that nation’s “female moral writers, her poets, and her teachers; [as] her Moores and Frys.”87 As the reference to Hannah More and Elizabeth Fry indicates, Ward respected the power of devout women to effect change. Midgley attributes this—and his willingness to circumvent male authority with direct appeals to women—to Ward’s radical youth.88 “There can hardly be a misery,” Ward wrote to the Times, “connected with human existence, which the pity and zeal of British females, under the blessing of Providence, is not able to remove, and if this dreadful case be properly felt in every town of the united kingdom [sic], these immolations must shortly cease for ever.” Schools must be founded and knowledge passed on, Ward proclaimed, so that Indian women could become the equals of their privileged counterparts in Britain. This great philanthropic project, he insisted, was the task of women: “Other triumphs of humanity may have been gained by our Howards, our Clarksons, our Wilberforces; but this emancipation of the females and widows of British India must be the work of the British fair.”89 Others implored British women to turn their benevolent attention to Indian women.90 Most notable was the General Baptist missionary James Peggs, who asked Buxton to bring sati before parliament in 1821. That same year Peggs and Mary Anne Cooke left for India on the vessel carrying Ward back to Bengal. After a brief stay in Serampore, Peggs helped establish the General Baptist mission in Orissa before retiring to Britain in 1825 for health reasons.91 After returning, Peggs was pivotal in rousing the public to action against sati. In the crucial period after 1827, he published numerous pamphlets, lectured across the country, founded an influential society, and encouraged petitions to parliament. Like Ward, Peggs also invited women to support the campaign. Midgley notes that he called for female petitions to parliament, but in a tentative fashion that did little to overcome male resistance to such activity.92 Some women, however, were receptive to the idea, and there are reasons to believe they were stirred into political action by Peggs. Certainly, he welcomed the idea. Peggs made both subtle and explicit appeals to British women. His published works bore provocative titles such as The Suttees’ Cry to Britain and India’s Cries to British Humanity. The former employed contrasting gothic and roman fonts on the title page to drive home his message that India was one of the dark places on earth requiring humanitarian intervention.93 In these works Peggs reiterated the rhetorical strategies used by Ward and others to draw women into the campaign, including the usual depictions of helpless women coerced into sati and of sons compelled to burn their mothers.94 He encouraged British women in Bengal and Britain to unite to sign petitions and took pride when the first three female petitions were presented, adding that a parliament that had abolished the slave trade would surely not “for ever permit the burning of widows.”95 His familiarity with the antislavery campaign extended to tactics. Peggs printed poems—at least one written by a woman—appealing to British women to turn their compassion to the sufferings of Indian women and children.96 Midgley notes that antislavery activists had long made such use of women’s poetry, particularly during the campaign against the slave trade.97 The poems that Peggs printed made similar appeals to a supposed special sensitivity of women to the suffering of others. With these poems, his rhetorical strategies, and appeals to British women to petition for abolition, Peggs was



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manifestly trying to draw British women into a new national mission. Finding evidence of divine guidance in Britain’s triumph over Napoleon, Peggs saw in this victory proof that it was now “the evident and imperious duty of Britain to spread her protecting shield over these defenceless widows and orphans.”98 Women were responsive. In 1828 Peggs published his appeal to the women of Britain and Ireland to petition parliament against sati. The next year, he established the Coventry society to abolish human sacrifice in India, which drew “many ladies” to its initial public meeting. At this meeting, Peggs praised those supporting the cause, including a Salisbury woman who had donated five pounds. He reiterated his call for a network of abolition societies across the country that “would rouse the public mind, and fix it upon the subject” of sati. “Let Britain ‘plead for the widow,’ ” Peggs told his audience, by petitioning parliament to abolish sati and other forms of human sacrifice in India. Another speaker asked the women in attendance to take pity on Indian women “for in that country they were often consigned to death at an early age, merely because they were women.” The Coventry meeting ended with unanimous approval of petitions to both houses of parliament calling for suppression of sati.99 Was it mere coincidence that that same month—February 1829—women’s groups began submitting their petitions to parliament? One reason to suspect not is the fact that the first petition came from a General Baptist congregation, Peggs’ own denomination.100 Another is Peggs’ direct appeal to women, which echoed an earlier one by Ward, asking them to join a new national crusade, sanctioned by Providence after the wars against France. A third reason to believe that Peggs drew women into public activism is his use of visual imagery. In 1828 Peggs published a second edition of The Suttee’s Cry to Britain. It was here, Midgley notes, that he first asked women from throughout the United Kingdom to petition parliament.101 Also new to this second edition was an illustration that became an iconic representation of sati, in part because he used in the subsequent editions of India’s

Figure 4.1 “A Suttee,” by unknown artist. From James Peggs, India’s Cries to British Humanity . . . , 2nd ed. (London: Seely and Son, 1830).



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Cries (see figure 4.1). Lata Mani places this illustration in the context of recorded eyewitness accounts, most of which were by European men. These accounts marginalized Indian women, ignoring their suffering and the material factors underlying sati. Western men, she argues, fixed their attention instead on the presumed ritual nature of sati, viewing this with a mixture of fascination and horror captured well by the illustration that Peggs introduced to the British public in 1828.102 This visual image needs to be situated in another context as well. The fact that sati was an act of violence against women conducted as a public spectacle permeated British accounts. Eyewitnesses reported that Hindu widows were sometimes drugged before they performed sati or, more commonly, physically restrained to keep them from fleeing. One rhetorical image was of women lying “bound as sheep for the slaughter.”103 Peggs’ illustration reiterates this with its depiction of ropes binding the woman to her dead husband and men using swords to bring down a canopy of wood and leaves to ensure that escape would be impossible. It also hints at a crowd of Indians to the left and behind the pyre. Narrative accounts circulating in Britain stressed that satis were noisy public events. Many suggested parallels to blood sports at home. The Baptist missionary Joshua Marshman—responsible for the comparison to the slaughter of sheep—was one of the first to turn attention to the crowds. Their behavior suggested to him that sati was but a brutal spectator sport. Hastening to the scene of a sati, Marshman reported that it was a horrible sight. The most shocking indifference and levity appeared among those who were present. I never saw any thing more brutal than their behavior. The dreadful scene had not the least appearance of a religious ceremony. It resembled an abandoned rabble of boys in England, collected for the purpose of worrying to death a cat or a dog. A bamboo, perhaps twenty feet long, had been fastened at one end to a stake driven into the ground, and held down over the fire by men at the other. Such were the confusion, the levity, the bursts of brutal laughter, while the poor woman was burning alive before their eyes, that it seemed as if every spark of humanity was extinguished by this accursed superstition.

He went on to recount how the crowd used bamboo poles to stir and push the woman’s body, “as you would repair a fire of green wood, by throwing the unconsumed pieces into the middle.”104 Marshman’s account proved popular. William Johns reprinted it in his 1816 pamphlet and repeated it—down to the gory details—at a Manchester meeting. At that 1827 meeting, Johns regretted “that in this country we appear to have retrograded, for whilst we have legislated to prevent cruelty to animals, we allow a portion of the human race, nay even of our own subjects, to have cruelties practised upon them at which humanity shudders.”105 The reference was to the recent legislative success of the fledgling animal protection movement in Britain. Throughout the eighteenth century, there were an increasing number of voices raised against the ill-treatment of animals. From 1800 onward, a series of parliamentary bills were introduced, and the first law protecting some domestic animals from abusive treatment was passed in 1822.106 Those leading the campaign recognized the need for a society to promote the cause, and in 1820–1821, appeals went out to those “actuated by a compassionate regard for the sufferings of the brute species.”107 These appeals resulted in the establishment of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA) in 1824. William Wilberforce and Thomas Fowell Buxton were present, the latter in the chair, at the founding meeting. As already noted,



SLAVERY AND SATI


this is but one example of the spillover of humanitarian reformers from one cause to another. One possible reason for the spillover in the case of sati was the linkage of the Indian ritual and blood sports. Important here was Wilberforce, who, in 1813, entered into the parliamentary record Marshman’s graphic comparison of brutal crowds delighting in violence to women and animals. Once parliament began addressing animal abuse, commentators kept the comparison alive in the 1820s by asking how the British nation could concern itself with the plight of mules and hogs, but stand silently by while helpless women were tortured to death in India.108 One measure of the strength of these perceived parallels between violence done to women and to animals is the fact that in 1830s, when the SPCA began campaigning against select sports, James Peggs entered the fray. He petitioned government to stop bull running at Stamford, a sport so popular that the law prohibiting it could be enforced only by sending in a detachment of light dragoons.109 Women provide another reason to believe that the comparison between sati and blood sports resonated with an awakening humanitarian impulse in Britain. Comparisons of restrained women and tethered animals sacrificed for the amusement of noisy, callous crowds in India and Britain struck female audiences differently than male ones. Evidence for this comes from the fact that the SPCA, initially a male stronghold, soon drew avid support from women: over one-half of the society’s nineteenth-century legacies, for example, came from women.110 Traditional philanthropic motives predominated in the society’s early stages, as women again took on the role of compassionate protectors of the helpless. It is noteworthy, however, that sati and animal cruelty emerged as linked issues at nearly the same time in public discourse and that both were successfully legislated against within the same decade. Midgley argues that in “petitioning parliament [to abolish sati] women were becoming publicly involved in defining the limits of male behaviour, asserting the value of a woman’s life and the unacceptability of male violence.”111 With but minor substitutions, Midgley’s sentence would also accurately characterize how the Victorian women who supported what became the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (RSCPA) challenged male behavior and reduced male violence by asserting the value of animal life against the men who abused work animals or gambled at dog or cock fights. The working class men who first bore the brunt of the RSCPA’s interventions saw it this way. Their often violent resistance to what they perceived as meddling in their work and recreation was a classic response to encroachments on traditionally sanctioned male behavior.112 A brief look at antivivisectionism adds to the impression that sati helped set the stage for later campaigns by British women against male violence. This late Victorian and Edwardian movement was supported by women “in numbers exceeded only by the suffrage societies,”113 and its leadership was predominately female.114 Their opponents— the medical community and its public defenders—were by and large male. Women were mobilized for the antivivisection campaign by the same appeals to traditions of female philanthropy and a special capacity for compassion that had attracted earlier women to antislavery and anti-sati.115 The new crusade owed much else to those earlier movements, drawing on the successful use of itinerant lecturers, circulating tracts, fundraising techniques, and the like. Although most would see antislavery as the inspiration for these tactics,116 the campaign against sati likely contributed something as well. For instance, if—as Richard French argues—the strategy of Victorian crusaders was first “to make vivisection ‘infamous, then illegal,’ ”117 then the campaign against sati deserves consideration as the model, since it was one of the first successful examples of the



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strategy. Certainly the antivivisectionists’ use of graphic illustrations and related emphasis on brutalized spectators suggests a debt to the anti-sati movement. They circulated gruesome images of restrained animals enduring violence that recall Peggs’ famous illustration, and they emphasized the dehumanizing effects on the medical students who observed vivisections.118 As Coral Lansbury has shown, antivivisectionists drew frequent comparisons to blood sports to condemn vivisection for appealing to the basest motives in spectators.119 This attempt to delegitimize a socially accepted practice—one whose moral evils were seemingly offset by its practical benefits—by drawing parallels to blood sports and their demoralizing effects looks back to Joshua Marshman and other opponents of widow burning. Relevant here is the way that some women came to identify with animals as victims of male violence. Lansbury argues that late Victorian women “saw themselves as horses being flogged and beaten, and many saw their own condition hideously and accurately embodied in the figure of an animal bound to a table by straps with the vivisector’s knife at work on its flesh.” During lectures by antivivisectionists, women in the audience “would often sob and become hysterical, to the delight of the jeering medical students.” Lansbury attributes this to a new consciousness fashioned by Elizabeth Blackwell and others who drew explicit parallels between various gynecological procedures and vivisection. In this new consciousness, the vivisected animal “embodied all the fears of sexual surgery: images of women strapped to chairs or tables, feet held high in stirrups, and the gynaecologist standing over them with a knife.”120 Such comparisons between violence to women and to animals, each restrained and helpless before callous onlookers, were not new. They had been first made in the 1820s during the campaign against sati. The fact that these comparisons were still stirring women into action at the end of the century suggests that sati may have had more than a momentary impact on the British public imagination. The campaign against sati drew women into public activism in important ways. Efforts by William Ward and James Peggs to create a national crusade in which women would play a vital role—even take the lead—bore immediate fruit that helped shape the direction of British humanitarianism for decades to come. The campaign opened up new avenues of political participation for women and raised issues of female emancipation and violence against women. It is also important to remember that the anti-sati agitation was one of the first major successes of a burgeoning humanitarian movement, one in which women by social consensus were accorded a privileged role. If antislavery should command special status in the story of British humanitarianism and pressuregroup politics, also deserving of credit are the men and women who demonstrated that it was possible to rouse the nation against moral compromise in the name of imperial interests in India. But this narrative is incomplete without mention of Rammohun Roy. The Bengali reformer helped unleash this humanitarian impulse, providing key evidence against a main argument of imperial pragmatism. He also addressed gender issues that appealed to British middle-class women. The result was a celebrity status that spilled over into transatlantic antislavery circles and nascent feminist ones in Britain. As the next chapter demonstrates, it was not only Unitarians defending an expansive vision of Christianity who claimed Rammohun as their own.



SLAVERY AND SATI




Rammohun Roy and Early Victorian Feminism

Rammohun Roy’s campaign against widow burning became known in Britain through multiple means. Before the Precepts of Jesus controversy, Baptist missionaries at Serampore introduced Rammohun’s sati writings to British audiences. James Silk Buckingham lauded his efforts on printed page and in lecture halls. Periodicals reproduced his pamphlets. It was James Peggs, however, who did the most to popularize the view that Rammohun was an important authority clinching the argument that the practice could be safely abolished. In the process, Peggs helped introduce Rammohun’s advanced views of women to audiences that included early feminists. Rammohun’s initial efforts against sati are shrouded in mystery. It is possible he was stirred into action when his sister-in-law became a sati in 1811 or 1812. In the next few years it seems he visited sati sites near Calcutta to dissuade women from burning themselves. Friends accompanied him, their goal being to ensure that no coercion was used and that East India Company regulations were followed. When pro-sati activists petitioned for repeal of those regulations, Rammohun may have helped draft a counterpetition in August 1818.1 A few months later Rammohun published in Bengali and English his first pamphlet against sati. In spring 1819 a letter that he most likely wrote using a pseudonym appeared in Calcutta newspapers. This letter challenged sati supporters to respond to Rammohun’s pamphlet, which accused them of complicity in murder. Kashinath Tarkavagish responded with a pamphlet detailing the religious texts supporting sati. Rammohun replied with a second tract. The Bengali version appeared at the end of 1819 and the English translation in February 1820. Two years later Rammohun published a pamphlet situating sati in the context of modern encroachments on female inheritance rights.2 Over the next decade Rammohun kept up his campaign. He participated in the debate about sati that took place in Calcutta newspapers, including his own Samvada Kaumudi. In 1832 he published another essay suggesting a different relationship between inheritance rights and sati. Governor-General William Bentinck consulted Rammohun—and many others—before abolishing sati in late 1829. Although Rammohun advised at that



Chapter 5


time against direct action, he emerged as a key supporter of Bentinck’s decision during the tumult that followed. A January 1830 petition asking British authorities to rescind abolition was immediately countered by a delegation headed by Rammohun that presented Bentinck with congratulatory addresses. Shortly thereafter Rammohun published an English pamphlet reiterating arguments from his 1818 and 1820 pamphlets. When the orthodox community petitioned the privy council for repeal of Bentinck’s regulation, Rammohun agreed to represent proabolition Bengalis during his visit to Britain.3 While Rammohun’s activities after abolition are important, it is his earlier pamphlets that engendered his fame among Western humanitarians. Previously we saw that Rammohun was educated in the languages, culture, and rhetoric of precolonial north Indian public discourse before acquiring similar tools for an emerging print-oriented public arena. His sati pamphlets are part of a larger debate he had with orthodox opponents regarding image worship, textual authorities, and the like. Some of this debate took the form of oral disputations, but Rammohun and his opponents also used the new medium of print. Both sides prepared English translations of some publications,4 because of the need to court British opinion. The print revolution ensured that their debate reached metropolitan audiences. As we have seen, Rammohun’s religious works circulated to Britain and North America, where domestic debates had primed audiences to read these with great attention. Something similar took place with his early sati writings. At the heart of the Bengali religious controversy was the question of scriptural authority. Rammohun challenged the orthodox defense of what he deemed corrupt institutions, arguing that neither scripture nor reason supported sati, female infanticide, polygamy, or indecent religious practices. He was particularly effective in making this case to British audiences with regard to sati. Bruce Carlisle Robertson notes that Rammohun’s exegetical skills surpassed those of his main opponent on widow burning and that European orientalists supported his reading of Hindu scriptures.5 Others agreed that he won the debate. Among these were Baptist missionaries rousing the British public into humanitarian action. The Baptists would soon have their own reasons to respect Rammohun’s talent for scriptural interpretation. Prior to the publication of The Precepts of Jesus, however, the Serampore missionaries worked closely with Rammohun and published some of his sati and other works at the mission press. During this period the Baptists were hopeful that Rammohun would convert and used his criticisms of orthodox Hinduism to advance their cause.6 They gave prominent attention to his first sati essay, as well as to the orthodox response, believing that Rammohun had bested his opponents. Rammohun’s second sati pamphlet, however, appeared nearly simultaneously with his Precepts. The Serampore group largely ignored the former to concentrate on their controversy with Rammohun. The Baptists took note of Rammohun’s publications in critical essays on sati in the Friend of India. These were likely authored by the journal’s editor, Joshua Marshman.7 The first one appeared near the end of 1818. In it Marshman summarizes, without mentioning the author’s name, Rammohun’s first tract, published in English as Translation of a Conference between an Advocate for, and an Opponent of, the Practice of Burning Widows Alive; from the Original Bungla.8 Written in dialogue form, this piece mirrored the religious debates in which Rammohun and orthodox Hindus were engaging. Oddly, Rammohun may have been inspired in this tract by an opponent, Mrityunjay Vidyalankar. In 1817 Vidyalankar, chief pandit of the Company’s superior court, had written a legal opinion



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stating that Hindu scriptures indicated that sati was inferior to a life of austerity as a form of virtuous action.9 This point would become central to Rammohun’s argument against sati, beginning with the Translation of a Conference, where he claimed that the Manusmriti (Institutes of Manu) was decisive on this matter. He also cited textual authorities against the use of coercion in sati and argued that this was a recent custom. He concluded the tract by suggesting that the real reason for sati was the fear that widows would disgrace their families. He added a plea for compassion for the sufferings of women burned to death.10 Marshman found in this pamphlet several issues to highlight. One was the scriptural authority of the Manusmriti: since Manu, “the great Hindoo legislator,” prescribed a life of austerity, this was the preferred path of virtue for widows. Another was that using ropes or bamboo poles to hold down widows was a recent innovation confined to Bengal. He found helpful Rammohun’s point that even texts supporting sati stipulated that it must be voluntary. Marshman tacitly agreed with Rammohun that family honor was an issue, arguing that coercive means were used to prevent widows from disgracing their families by fleeing the flames.11 In a follow-up essay, Marshman praised Translation of a Conference for demonstrating that sati had “no foundation” in the shastras and named Rammohun as its author. He implicitly referred to Rammohun’s argument about family honor and concurred in labeling the practice murder. The essay ended with a notice of a just-published, anonymous defense of sati.12 This was Kashinath Tarkavagish’s response to Rammohun’s pseudonymous letter asking why sati supporters did not respond to his charge of complicity in murder. Tarkavagish’s 1819 tract was a dialogue, published in Bengali and English translation. This was the first foray into print by defenders of sati. Marshman thought this noteworthy and printed extracts in the Friend of India.13 What interested Marshman was that Tarkavagish’s work mustered the available scriptural authority supporting sati. If “all this fall short of an absolute and indispensible injunction,” he wrote, “the practice will be found to be as illegal according to the Hindoo Shastras, as it is inhuman in itself.” Marshman believed that Tarkavagish had failed to find textual evidence to challenge Manu (i.e., the Manusmriti) “whose authority is paramount to every other [and who] positively forbids it.” The advocates of sati were thus reduced to defending the practice as a preventive measure based on female “dulness and stupidity.” Believing women incapable of comprehending divine wisdom, proponents argued that without sati, widows would be forced to lead lives of austerity from spiritually inferior motives. Marshman was aghast: “Truly their thus forcing their burning system on the poor widow, from principles of such exalted benevolence, outdoes all that the Roman Catholics have ever done in the way of burning heretics out of pure pity to their souls.” He concluded with a vivid image of Indian women lying “bound as sheep for the slaughter;—and thus they must remain, suffering in silence, till British feeling and sympathy shall duly realize their hitherto unknown, unpitied misery.”14 Marshman’s religious bias needs attention. Lata Mani notes that the British discourse on sati was dominated by a search for scriptural authority rooted in the Protestant temperament. The same is true of the readiness to believe that sati was upheld by an immoral priesthood.15 Mani is right to call attention to this. As previous chapters suggest, a long history of passionate debates about the Trinity had elevated exegesis into an art form in Britain. When Marshman thanked Rammohun for enticing Tarkavagish into printed religious debate, and then implied that the latter had failed



R AMMOHUN AND EARLY VICTORIAN FEMINISM


to best Rammohun on scriptural evidence,16 this was no mean compliment. Indeed, Marshman indicated that the British public was eager to read Rammohun’s response to Tarkavagish.17 Set alongside his review of Rammohun’s 1818 tract, Marshman’s comments are an acknowledgment of Rammohun’s talents in this form of public disputation that Britons esteemed. Relevant here is Rammohun’s fame as a Vedantin. In the years 1818–1819, he was emerging in the transatlantic public consciousness as a Hindu reformer. As noted, Western editors drew comparisons to Luther and the Protestant Reformation, indicating just how successfully Rammohun had crafted images of a pure Hinduism groaning under the weight of superstition, ignorance, and priestcraft. He accomplished this by convincing British and North American readers that the essence of Hinduism could be discovered in its ancient texts, not contemporary practices.18 The Serampore missionaries were not alone in drawing attention to Rammohun’s opinions. In 1818 and 1821 the Asiatic Journal published commentaries on Rammohun’s argument that binding widows was not sanctioned by sacred texts. These were followed by references to Rammohun’s use of the Manusmriti to argue against sati.19 Favorable mention of his ideas about widow burning appeared elsewhere.20 The Translation of a Conference was reprinted in the Missionary Register and other venues, and William Ward apparently mentioned it while on his lecture tour.21 The process was helped along by an 1823 London volume of Friend of India essays that included Marshman’s sati articles.22 James Silk Buckingham did his part after being expelled from India. In 1824 the former Calcutta Journal editor began publishing a London periodical critical of the Company, using tolerance of sati as an example of its misguided policies. Buckingham thought that Rammohun had proved that asceticism was what Hindu scriptures asked of widows. Buckingham referred to Rammohun’s ideas, quoted his text, and in 1826, gave his name and the title of the 1818 tract.23 The crucial person in this story, however, was James Peggs. The activist enhanced Rammohun’s profile by popularizing Marshman’s Friend of India essays during the final, crucial phase of anti-sati activism. Peggs published two editions of The Suttees’ Cry to Britain in 1827 and 1828, and then incorporated most of the latter pamphlet in the three editions of India’s Cries to British Humanity that appeared between 1829 and 1832. These works recycled the testimony of Company officials and others that sati could be safely abolished because it was neither enjoined by scriptures nor widely practiced. Peggs also reproduced Marshman’s essays in these works (with some exception in the final edition of India’s Cries), giving added significance to Rammohun’s views. In Marshman’s original essay, the summary of Translation of a Conference was embedded in the midst of other commentary. In his 1827 pamphlet Peggs created a separate section for Marshman’s summary with a heading succinctly stating Rammohun’s arguments about the Manusmriti and coercion. The 1828 pamphlet maintained this arrangement, but identified Rammohun as the author, something Marshman had failed to do initially. The first two editions of India’s Cries followed suit.24 Peggs’ rearrangement boosted Rammohun’s name and importance, separating him from the long list of Europeans favoring abolition. The suggestion was that here was irrefutable proof, supplied by a learned Hindu, regarding the lack of scriptural authority for sati. Peggs also reprinted or paraphrased Marshman’s essay on Tarkavagish’s dialogue in both pamphlets and all three editions of India’s Cries. This included Marshman’s assessment that sati proponents had put together every scrap of scripture available in favor of sati and yet had failed to convince. He paraphrased Marshman’s passage stating that sati



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was in reality a preventive measure, based on the supposition that women were incapable of attaining virtue. He kept alive Marshman’s vivid image of Indian women lying bound like sheep for the slaughter. Each time Peggs recyled Marshman’s essay, he reiterated the Baptist’s gratitude that Rammohun had drawn advocates of sati into a published debate, the last time referring to him as the “celebrated Ram Mohun Roy.”25 This last comment was penned while Rammohun was in London, feted by Unitarians. Peggs’ thoughts on the Precepts of Jesus controversy are unknown. General Baptists had over the years provided Unitarianism with many converts, including Robert Aspland. Peggs may have been more sympathetic to Rammohun’s Unitarianism than were the Particular Baptists of Serampore, or he may have recognized Rammohun’s interpretive skills without being persuaded by them, as happened with others. In any event, disputes regarding the Bible did not blind Peggs to the value of an internationally known exegete to his campaign. The same is true of the evangelical John Poynder. Poynder was a member of the Church Missionary Society and opposed the Company’s policy of religious toleration. He participated in the campaigns against sati and the Jagannath festival. In March 1827 he successfully introduced a resolution in the Court of Proprietors calling on the Company to abolish widow burning. This placed the London authorities on record in favor of suppression, leaving the critical matter of how to proceed in the hands of the Bengal government.26 In introducing his resolution, Poynder gave a seven-hour speech recalling the history of British policy and the suffering of the women involved. He also detailed the arguments advanced in favor of abolition. One of these was from the Friend of India. Poynder read out the concluding passage of an 1821 essay where Marshman insisted on the practicality of abolition and—in an obvious allusion to Rammohun—argued that “[w]e may calculate on the support of all the humane, the wise, and the good, throughout India.” Poynder also mentioned Rammohun by name and paraphrased his writings. The Bengali reformer believed that “suttee was utterly at variance with his religion” and “encouraged by the Brahmins . . . [who] kept from the people a correct knowledge of the sacred writings.”27 Peggs, however, deserves the greatest credit for raising Rammohun’s profile in the metropolitan debate. By repackaging Marshman’s commentaries, Peggs made plain that Rammohun had provided a solution to the imperial dilemma. The case for tolerating widow burning rested on supposed injunctions found in Hindu scriptures. Rammohun challenged this, using his famed exegetical talents to demonstrate the priority placed on asceticism in Hindu scriptures. More importantly, Rammohun forced those who claimed sati was religiously sanctioned to reveal publicly how weak their case was. Buckingham testified to what Peggs had done. The Oriental Herald editor had publicized Rammohun’s ideas on sati before Peggs assumed a leadership role in the anti-sati campaign. At that point, Buckingham listed Rammohun as an important authority, citing arguments from Translation of a Conference. The radical editor also briefly alluded to the subsequent controversy with orthodox Hindus, but said no more because this “would probably interest only theologians.”28 In 1829 Buckingham changed his mind, thanks to Peggs. Taking note of the establishment of the Coventry Society for the Abolition of Human Sacrifices in India, Buckingham reprinted the condensed version of The Suttees’ Cry issued by that society. This contained a key passage emphasizing that Rammohun had cited Manu in favor of asceticism for widows. It also described how he had induced supporters to produce “every scrap of Sanscrit” supporting widow burning,





which amounted “only to a recommendation of it from certain advantages the widow is deluded with a hope of obtaining.”29 By circulating this information, Peggs sealed the case for a policy change. An 1829 review of the first edition of India’s Cries demonstrates this. The anonymous reviewer noted that “[w]e have all heard from our childhood of the practice of Suttee in India.” It is widely cited as “the commonest illustration of the evils of superstition” and “a theme of declamation at our public meetings.” The practice “serves to excite a painful curiosity and an eager horror in the minds of children when the tale circulates round the winter’s hearth.” Yet this public awareness has done little or no good. Missionaries urge abolition; the East India Company holds discussions; and a few petitions are presented to parliament. “[B]ut no effectual measures have yet been taken even to ascertain the practicability of abolishing rites which excite an universal detestation.” Why? Because Britons are ignorant of the causes of the superstitions supporting widow burning and lack understanding of how these could be safely overcome. Thanks to Peggs and Rammohun Roy, this is no longer the case. The idea that sati “is incorporated with the religion of the Hindoos” is false. The reviewer pointed here to Rammohun’s argument from the Manusmriti regarding asceticism for widows and also noted what (s)he thought to be the poor exegesis in favor of sati made by Tarkavagish (without identifying him). Noting that Rammohun needed no introduction to Unitarian readers, the reviewer stated that he “of all men is best qualified” to discuss the subject. His name alone was the “best recommendation of his arguments.” And these arguments—along with the other information presented by Peggs—were decisive: “Away, then, with all squeamishness about interfering with a fundamental article of Hindoo religion.”30 The reviewer was unaware that Rammohun had earlier that year cautioned William Bentinck against outright prohibition.31 Familiar only with Translation of a Conference— and Peggs’ treatment of it and of Tarkavagish’s response—the reviewer made reasonable inferences regarding Rammohun’s support for direct suppression. Later events would bear out this interpretation. After sati was banned, Rammohun prominently lobbied to keep it illegal. The 1829 reviewer also drew parallels to the campaign against slavery. If it was ever a duty to inquire into the wrongs of African slaves—if it was ever a privilege to advocate their cause—if the exertions of their deliverers were ever worthy of praise, it is equally a duty and a privilege to befriend the unhappy captives of a barbarous superstition, it is equally honourable to release them from a bondage more wretched than any other to which human beings have been subjected.32

Besides confirming overlap between the two causes, these comments suggest a link to emerging feminism. The venue of publication provides the clue. This review appeared in the Monthly Repository. Readers of the Unitarian journal were long since familiar with Rammohun Roy and expected reasoned arguments based on scriptural authority. Still, this notice was unusual because the Repository was under new management. In 1827 the British and Foreign Unitarian Association purchased the monthly from Robert Aspland, and in 1828, William J. Fox became the editor. Three years later Fox bought the Repository and transformed it from a denominational periodical into a journal appealing to wider readership through literary, social, and political commentary. He attracted writers from outside Unitarianism such as J. S. Mill and



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Robert Browning. As sole proprietor, Fox also used the journal to advance a radical agenda that increasingly alienated its traditional Unitarian readership. What bothered many old subscribers was the decidedly feminist slant of the Repository after 1832.33 The anonymous review of Peggs’ work was an early indication of where Fox was taking the Repository. Rammohun Roy the theologian was important, but even more so was Rammohun Roy the social reformer. The juxtaposition of slavery and sati made this clear. There is a reason why a book by James Peggs produced a fresh look at this famous Bengali in a journal about to take a feminist turn. The British discourse on sati— alongside that of antislavery—employed rhetorical strategies that drew women into public and political roles. It also raised issues of emancipation and violence to women. Peggs’ publications linked Rammohun to those issues. He recycled Marshman’s image of Indian women bound for slaughter and summary of Rammohun’s argument that there was no scriptural authority for binding or other coercive measures. Marshman’s rejection of the idea of female spiritual inferiority was aired again by Peggs, who also reprinted passages suggesting that Rammohun believed women as capable of virtue as men. In short, Peggs primed British audiences to perceive Rammohun in the context of an emerging women’s question. This perception would be strengthened by Rammohun’s later writings, which addressed the social and legal condition of Hindu women, polygamy, and female education. William Ward expressed similar notions during his fundraising tour in Britain,34 but without mentioning Rammohun. This was likely a consequence of the Precepts of Jesus controversy, as was Marshman’s neglect of Rammohun’s later sati pamphlets. Peggs mostly ignored these too. But he made good use of the earlier works, forging a popular image of Rammohun as an important authority on sati and an advocate for women. Thus, when Rammohun’s later publications became available, an avid readership for his progressive views on women was in place. One of these works was the rebuttal to Tarkavagish, published in Bengali in 1819 and the next year in English translation. The latter was titled A Second Conference between an Advocate for, and an Opponent of the Practice of Burning Widows Alive. A Second Conference replicates the exegetical style of Rammohun’s first sati tract. The textual analysis is more thorough because the focus is on refuting Tarkavagish’s reading of key passages.35 The English translation also reveals Rammohun’s growing ease in writing for Dissenting audiences. He repeatedly accused advocates of abusing or corrupting the meaning of scriptures to lead the ignorant and weak-minded into sati. He expressed contempt for the interpretive lengths to which pandits went to justify binding women: “All people in the world are not blind, and those who will go and behold the mode in which you tie down women to the pile, will readily perceive the truth or falsehood of the motives you assign for the practice.” Revealing too is the dedication to the marchioness of Hastings. Describing A Second Conference as “an appeal to reason in behalf of humanity,” Rammohun hinted why he dedicated the volume to the governor-general’s wife: “for to whose protection can any attempt to promote a benevolent purpose be with so much propriety committed?”36 His presentation letter clarified his motives. The marchioness would not neglect “the unfortunate Females of India,” especially since nowhere else was there “such wide scope and excellent opportunity” for exerting her benevolence. Surely, Rammohun added, “the Glory of saving thousands of unhappy Women from cruel Murder” would belong not to a future governor-general, but to her husband.37 Rammohun was obviously cognizant





of the power of appeals to philanthropic British women. His contacts with Baptist missionaries would explain this: at the time Rammohun wrote these words, William Ward was touring Britain, asking women to make suppression of sati their cause. This was not the only appeal that Rammohun made to British women in A Second Conference. That pamphlet concludes by analyzing the status of women in Bengal. This was provoked by Tarkavagish’s assertion that women lacked the capacity to lead a life of virtue prescribed by the Manusmriti. Mani criticizes Rammohun for not addressing male control of female sexuality; others stress the progressive views he advanced here,38 such as the equal capacity of men and women for virtue. Rammohun also argued that the parallel often drawn between (seeming) physical and intellectual inferiority in women was based on faulty reasoning. Men deny women the opportunity to develop mental capacities, which they then offered as proof of natural feminine weakness. “[Y]ou keep women generally void of education and acquirements,” Rammohun replied to his opponents, “you cannot, therefore, in justice pronounce on their inferiority.” In the concluding paragraph Rammohun noted that Bengali women are burdened with household duties and “treated worse than inferior animals,” reduced, often to little more than “a slave in the house.” He detailed some of their daily miseries.39 These were issues familiar to early feminists in Britain. Mary Wollstonecraft was only one of a long line of women stretching back to the seventeenth century who argued that improper education, not innate ability, explained the intellectual deficiencies of women of the day.40 Harriet Martineau rehashed the argument in an 1823 essay, as did radicals in the ensuing decades.41 Attention to the drudgery of household work and suggestions that women over the ages have been little more than domestic slaves were also common. Enlightenment historians played a role here, creating the widely held view that societal progress could be measured by the status of women: the more primitive a people, the more were its women overworked and, as Adam Ferguson put it, “the slaves and helots of their country.”42 Early nineteenth-century feminists extended the notion of bondage to encompass the condition of middle-class women. Marriage was a form of slavery in the eyes of some; others saw lack of voting rights as de facto servitude.43 Rammohun’s conversancy with such notions is possibly another indication of Unitarian influence. Rational Dissenters were prominent among those employing environmentalist ideas to connect the education of women to their intellectual condition.44 Unitarians could also be found advocating both versions of the woman-as-slave idea. In a popular 1812 lecture, Robert Aspland argued that in many ages and societies, women have been “degraded to an ignominious bondage.”45 Twenty years later William J. Fox published in the Monthly Repository an article by William Bridges Adams arguing that the marriage laws of Britain made women there “as much slaves as the inmates of a Turkish haram [sic].”46 It may not be coincidence that the English translation of A Second Conference appeared the same year as The Precepts of Jesus.47 Other gender issues interested Rammohun. His Brief Remarks regarding Modern Encroachments on the Ancient Rights of Females (1822) posited that the inheritance rights of Bengali widows had been undermined in the modern period. This contributed to the incidence of sati in two ways. A woman who should have inherited property was instead left “dependent on her sons, and subject to the slights of her daughters-in-law.” It was “not from religious prejudices and early impressions only” that widows burned themselves, “but also from witnessing the distress in which widows of the same rank in life are involved, and the insults and slights to which they are daily subjected.” Shrinking inheritance rights also contributed to the problem by encouraging polygamy.



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Kulin brahmans were notorious for marrying multiple wives. Modern inheritance law encouraged this by not requiring family property to be passed on to widows. Often shamefully treated while their husbands were alive, women in these marriages faced three unpleasant choices, once widowed. The first was a more terrible version of what Rammohun described in A Second Conference as “a miserable life as entire slaves to others.” The second was prostitution and the third, sati. Was it any wonder that sati was most common in Bengal, where polygamy was prevalent? Rammohun concluded by citing ancient texts to argue that daughters were entitled to a share of inheritances, adding that the contemporary practice of high-caste families accepting money for marrying their daughters amounted to “an actual sale of females.”48 Later, Rammohun advanced a different interpretation. He first hinted at this in a treatise defending one of the modern commentaries—Jimutavahana’s Dayabhaga—that he had blamed in 1822 for encroaching on female inheritance rights.49 Essay on the Rights of Hindoos over Ancestral Property (1830) appeared first in Calcutta and then in an 1832 London edition containing letters Rammohun had exchanged with a critic in Bengal. The Essay protested the attempt by colonial authorities to introduce the legal tradition associated with Vijnanesvara’s Mitaksara into Bengali courts.50 Rammohun argued that this tradition was foreign to Bengal, where Jimutavahana’s views prevailed, giving the father absolute control over family property. Rammohun highlighted several important differences between the Dayabhaga and Mitaksara. One of these regarded the inheritance rights of widows. According to Jimutavahana, widows without sons had full inheritance rights within the extended family, while Vijnanesvara’s work gave such widows similar rights only if their husbands had previously separated from the extended family.51 The Essay relied on a translation of the Dayabhaga and parts of the Mitaksara produced by H. T. Colebrooke in 1810.52 It appears that Colebrooke’s work provided Rammohun with a different perspective on the causal relationship between property rights and sati. In the last of the 1830 letters he exchanged with his critic, Rammohun indicated that he planned a future work clarifying his new views. This letter was written as he sailed for London.53 Rammohun made good on his promise with an 1832 pamphlet. Citing Colebrooke’s translation of the Dayabhaga, Rammohun argued there that Bengali law preserved inheritance rights for widows without male heirs. This led in-laws to urge sati upon such widows to keep family property intact. In other parts of India—where the Mitaksara legal tradition held sway—sati was rarer because widows had inheritance rights only in the occasional instances where her husband’s property had been separated from that of his extended family.54 (With some reservations, modern scholars agree.)55 Noteworthy is the shift in his argument. In Brief Remarks Rammohun had blamed inheritance laws for encouraging polygamy and leaving Bengali widows propertyless, which led many to commit sati. Now he suggested almost the reverse. Sati was more common in Bengal because widows without male issue had inheritance rights that could be eliminated by this means.56 Rammohun formulated this new argument in London while lobbying against the petition by conservative Hindus to undo Bentinck’s 1829 regulation. Among other things, he offered to help the East India Company prepare its response. In January 1832 the Company’s lawyers accepted the offer. They solicited Rammohun’s comments on Hindu authorities for sati, sending him a printed copy of the passages from sacred texts and pandits’ opinions that they planned to use. Later that month Rammohun transmitted to the lawyers a manuscript essay defending abolition. This manuscript incorporated





the extracts sent by the lawyers, citing the page numbers from the printed material the lawyers sent him. Rammohun’s manuscript contained his new interpretation of the relationship between inheritance rights and sati. The legal team incorporated this into their brief for the privy council without attribution.57 The first signature on the brief was that of the attorney general, Thomas Denman. This is interesting because Denman had been the lead attorney pleading James Silk Buckingham’s case against the Company before the privy council in 1825. In the next chapter we will see how Denman had then tried to bring Rammohun’s protest against press restrictions in India into argumentation. The Company’s legal team was aware of this—one member, Robert Spankie, had sat opposite Denman in 1825—but solicited his celebrated argumentation skills anyway. They hoped that Denman would join them because the sati appeal involved “no point of law as in Buckingham’s case.”58 Whether this argument swayed the attorney general is not known. It may be that the respect he had gained for Rammohun while working on Buckingham’s appeal inclined Denman to join the Company’s team. It may also explain why Rammohun’s ideas made their way into their brief. Besides the argument regarding inheritance law, the brief followed Rammohun’s manuscript in citing the fact that two years had passed since abolition, and yet no public disturbances had occurred, indicating that sati was not considered integral to their religion by Hindus.59 A printed version of Rammohun’s manuscript soon appeared. This pamphlet bore a title similar to the one Rammohun had used on the document he submitted to the lawyers: Some Remarks in Vindication of the Resolution Passed by the Government of Bengal in 1829 Abolishing the Practice of Female Sacrifices in India.60 Apparently, it was printed for private circulation. According to J. T. Rutt, Some Remarks was “very freely distributed” by Rammohun in 1832, although it seems to have disappeared soon after.61 The only known copy was discovered in Lahore and made known to the world as part of the 1933 celebrations marking the centenary of Rammohun’s death. In 1934 it was reprinted in the Modern Review and thereafter elsewhere.62 The Lahore copy was presented to Louisa Johnston, wife of Sir Alexander Johnston. Rammohun’s note, dated April 13, 1832, offers her the work “virtually on behalf of the females of India . . . as an appeal to the Female community of England.” He added that, although Indian women had yet to experience the latter’s educational opportunities, they shared “the nature and capacity of that blessed sex.”63 It appears he presented another copy of Some Remarks to a Mrs. Woodford of Brighton. That copy has not been found, but Rammohun’s letters to Woodford and her husband indicate that the two held liberal and reforming sentiments.64 It is not an unreasonable conjecture that Rammohun also inscribed an appeal to Woodford to take up the cause of Indian women. The impact of Some Remarks is difficult to gauge. This is not the case with the earlier tract discussing the legal condition of widows. In 1823 the Missionary Register and the Asiatic Journal summarized or reprinted Brief Remarks, including the passage linking inheritance rights to polygamy and sati. In 1826 Buckingham paraphrased parts of that argument in the Oriental Herald without citing his source. Peggs did not mention inheritance issues in his sati pamphlets, but did reprint passages from Brief Remarks— taken from the Missionary Register—in India’s Cries, using Rammohun’s arguments to explain the high incident rate in Bengal.65 In 1832 Rammohun republished Brief Remarks and his other sati essays—but not Some Remarks—in London. Translation of Several Principal Books, Passages, and Texts of the Veds, and of Some Controversial Works on Brahmunical Theology also reproduced



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the English versions of Rammohun’s Vedanta essays and responses to Hindu critics.66 On display in this volume is his engagement with orthodox Hindus on matters ranging from image worship and theism to sati. Its publication confirms the centrality of religious controversy to Rammohun’s transnational fame. Rammohun wrote that it was the desire of friends to have copies of his Vedanta essays and his “Controversies with those Brahmuns who are advocates for idolatry” that led to this volume.67 There were surely some also interested in his challenge to orthodoxy on widow burning. In the summer of 1832 the privy council heard the orthodox Hindu petition to repeal abolition of sati. Rammohun had publicly and privately lobbied against repeal prior to this. As discussed in chapter 3, he met with Lord Lansdowne, who, in 1831, presented to the House of Lords the petition that Rammohun had brought with him. The Company’s legal team consulted him in early 1832, and the essay that Rammohun sent them was printed and circulated. And when the privy council heard the case, Rammohun was seated prominently near the councilors. The hearings drew attention from both the British and Indian press, where Rammohun’s presence was noted.68 This conspicuous role explains the presence of his Calcutta sati tracts in Rammohun’s 1832 volume of Vedanta essays. The subject of widow burning was on the public mind that year and Rammohun widely associated with its abolition. There is good reason to think that the readership for reprints of Rammohun’s sati essays included many women and some emerging feminists. Helping create this audience was Frances Keith Martin, the first wife of Robert Montgomery Martin whose career is discussed elsewhere. In a letter published in Calcutta in 1829 and reprinted in Dublin and London in 1830, Frances Martin credited the abolition of sati primarily to Rammohun’s eighteen-year campaign. She and her husband continued to laud him for this effort just prior to his arrival in London.69 Rammohun did his own part to cultivate a female readership in Britain. The inscription to Lady Johnston on the Lahore copy of Some Remarks indicates that the strategy of appealing to women perfected by anti-sati campaigners still held his interest. Rammohun apparently gave Mrs. Woodford a copy of Some Remarks; certainly he sent her a copy of the 1832 volume.70 The responses of these two are not known, but others were impressed with his progressive views. In a review of the 1832 volume, William J. Fox took note of Rammohun’s tracts on sati and female inheritance, which he credited with helping suppress widow burning. The fact that sati was now abolished, Fox added, “will not diminish the interest with which our readers will contemplate these philanthropic efforts.” 71 These comments appeared in the same issue where Fox published the first in a series of essays that transformed the Monthly Repository into an organ of early feminism. That essay—“A Political and Social Anomaly”—was penned by Fox, who asked why a woman could be queen but not vote for members of parliament. He also directed attention to the improper education of most women, who were trained into physical feebleness, superficial attainments, and the pursuit of marriage. “Under the present order of things,” Fox argued, “a large proportion of [women] must remain as they are, fools to be cajoled, toys to be sported with, slaves to be commanded.” 72 This was just the beginning. The Monthly Repository sported similar essays over the next several years. William Bridges Adams likened the legal status of British married women to that of Turkish harem slaves. Fox and other writers compared married women in Britain to Russian or American slaves.73 Fox penned an 1833 account of Mehetabel Wesley that depicted the sister of John Wesley as the victim of a bad education “which crippled her faculties” and led her into an immoral marriage where “she no doubt





thought her misery was her duty.” 74 That same year Fox suggested a linkage between prostitution and laws that made divorce impossible for all but the wealthiest, driving men to extramarital sexual relationships. If the laws would not be changed, Fox argued, “a temporary toleration of polygamy would be better, infinitely better, than this eternal flood of prostitution.” 75 Fox also mocked the valorization of chastity. A British woman, he wrote in 1834, might possess all kinds of vicious personal traits, but she would not “lose caste” for such failings, provided she remained sexually virtuous.76 Fox and his circle were not alone. Kathryn Gleadle has explored early feminists who advanced similar views throughout the 1830s and 1840s. Some were Owenites and utopian socialists. Many came from Unitarian backgrounds and were moving, like Fox, in a secular direction. They fashioned networks among journalists and lawyers that would prove instrumental in the feminist campaigns of the 1850s. The ideas they shared and promulgated were of foundational importance. Challenging prevailing myths about the civilized, angelic Englishwoman, they pointed out the real condition of most women. Badly educated and with few options but marriage, subservient and dependent on men, held prisoner by marriage and divorce laws that left them with little recourse when abused or cheated by husbands, English women were in a condition best compared to that of slaves. Only a social revolution could change this, one that educated women properly to develop their potentials and provided opportunities to employ their talents. The marriage laws that kept women in a state of bondage would also need radical alteration.77 These issues were soon addressed. The first women’s colleges were founded in 1848 and 1849. A few years later, the movement to alter marriage laws that deprived women of property rights began. The latter is commonly seen as the first organized feminist campaign in Britain,78 although few would disagree with Philippa Levine on the significance of these early educational institutions.79 Also undeniable is the role of women from Unitarian backgrounds in both efforts. Bedford College was the work of Elizabeth Reid and her circle of Unitarian friends.80 A key figure in the campaign for legal reform was Barbara Leigh Smith Bodichon, granddaughter of William Smith, the Unitarian MP. Assisting her was her lifelong friend and fellow feminist, Bessie Rayner Parkes, greatgranddaughter of Joseph Priestley. It is not insignificant that Bodichon took courses at Bedford College and later helped found Girton College, Cambridge.81 Fox’s review of Translation of Several Principal Books suggests a linkage between Rammohun’s sati essays and this emerging feminist consciousness. There are two distinct ways to trace this connection. One is to follow the appeal to British women to make the abolition of sati their special project. The other requires looking closer at the issue of the legal and socioeconomic condition of Indian women. In both instances, Unitarians illuminate the story. The previous chapter examined how the anti-sati campaign drew women into enhanced or new public roles as fundraisers, missionaries, and petitioners. The campaign also brought attention to female education and violence to women in India. Aware of the appeal to philanthropic British women, Rammohun reached out to that audience. The dedications and presentation notes for his sati essays evidence this. So too does the letter to Mrs. Woodford, where he evoked images of helpless women needing protection from those who cruelly took advantage of their “tender feelings.”82 Mrs. Woodford may have been a Unitarian.83 If so, Rammohun would not have been off target in appealing to her. Among those responding to Peggs’ call for women to petition parliament were the female congregants of Robert Aspland’s Old Gravel Pit Meeting House.84



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The motives of these women who crossed the boundary into political activism are unknown. Some inkling can be found in the larger Unitarian tradition. Unitarians promoted educating women. Important here was a belief that everyone needed to improve their moral and intellectual faculties for purposes of salvation. This evolved into an interest in enabling men and women alike to attain their intellectual and physical potentials. A related concern—widely shared by non-Unitarians—was for the traditional role of women as educators of children in the household, which gave additional reason for developing their minds and talents. Tensions between these two agendas could arise, particularly in the nineteenth century among families where patriarchal habits left educated women with little scope to employ their talents. Still, Unitarian families and schools tended to be nurseries of female activism, providing some women of the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries with superior educations and a supportive environment. For this reason, Unitarian women emerged early on as writers, social reformers, educational promoters, and the like.85 In the nineteenth century, some would become feminist activists, others would advance the cause of women by their example. Mary Carpenter and Harriet Martineau are good examples. Both grew up in Unitarian environments where educated women were encouraged. They shared Lant Carpenter as a mentor. Each moved into public careers and became role models for other women. To differing degrees, they supported feminist causes. In their youths, each was deeply affected by Rammohun Roy. For Harriet Martineau, this would prove temporary. In the case of Mary Carpenter, the result was a belated, but important response to Rammohun’s appeal to take up the cause of Indian women. Mary’s father was Lant Carpenter, the Bristol Unitarian minister with progressive views about women. He had “a very high opinion of the importance of educating the female sex,” according to Mary. He provided his daughters the same education that he gave to the boys who attended his boarding school in Bristol. As Mary advanced, Lant elevated her to classroom assistant. She participated in the dinner table discussions that were integral to the education imparted by her father. Later Mary did most of the teaching at her mother’s boarding school for young ladies.86 Lant Carpenter was a great admirer of Rammohun. Besides enthusiasm for Rammohun’s anti-Trinitarianism, Carpenter valued him as a “friend . . . of the female sex.” Rammohun deserved this title for helping abolish sati and sharing Unitarian views of women. This “benevolent Hindoo,” Carpenter wrote, “regarded woman, whether considered as an intellectual or as a spiritual being, as fitted, by natural powers and capabilities, to be the companion, the friend, and the helper of man.” Carpenter cited the concluding passage from A Second Conference denying the spiritual or intellectual inferiority of women, along with the section in Brief Remarks where Rammohun linked inheritance laws to polygamy and sati.87 Mary Carpenter partook in her father’s admiration for Rammohun. According to her nephew and first biographer, her primary interest was their shared Unitarianism. A modern biographer suggests that Rammohun also stirred in Mary a deep desire “to visit and serve the women of India.” The two agree that Rammohun’s death turned her thoughts in another direction. The American Unitarian Joseph Tuckerman visited Bristol shortly after Rammohun’s demise. He was one of Rammohun’s admirers across the Atlantic and an advocate of domestic missions. Tuckerman offered Carpenter an alternative to philanthropic work in India, directing her attention to street children in Britain. Reclaiming those children became her great cause and propelled her into prominence as a social reformer.88





Some three decades later, Carpenter did go to India and address the condition of women there. Rammohun’s death and Tuckerman’s visit are important factors in her decision to work at home first. But the delay likely had something to do with the fact that sati had been abolished by the time she met Rammohun. Baptist women were motivated by the sati campaign to pursue missionary activity in India, where they found new work by opening schools for girls. But Anglo-American Unitarians had been dissuaded from Indian missions by Rammohun himself. They focused instead on domestic social work, thanks to the personal crusade of Tuckerman. The breakup of the Calcutta Unitarian Committee led Tuckerman to look homeward for missionary work, and Carpenter was one of his converts. Her work reclaiming the children of the streets situates her within this pattern of Unitarian outreach.89 With sati suppressed and overseas missionary work largely abandoned, a dedicated Unitarian woman of talent and energy found work to do at home. It was only later—when Indians in Britain began making pilgrimages to Rammohun’s grave—that Carpenter’s attention returned to the condition of women in India. In 1866 she toured India for six months, and returned twice more over the next four years, each time making female education her priority.90 Her first trip turned Carpenter into a celebrity. As her biographer observes, thirty years of social work earned her less attention than did several months in India. Public demand for an account led to the popular Six Months in India (1868), which was dedicated to Rammohun and contained a likeness based on H. P. Briggs’ portrait (see figure 3.2). An audience with Queen Victoria followed. Carpenter helped found the National Indian Association, originally designed to promote teacher training, but soon a clearing house for women seeking employment in the subcontinent. Her book and subsequent visits to India drew attention from feminist periodicals, which touted her educational program. Antoinette Burton notes that Six Months “was undoubtedly influential in directing the reform passions of a generation of Victorian women toward . . . India and its women.”91 This might have happened earlier, as with Baptist women. Instead, for thirty-some years Carpenter carved out a public career at home. Burton argues elsewhere that Carpenter’s belated interest in India represents the first stirrings of the idea of a “white woman’s burden” that informed late Victorian and Edwardian feminist discourse. This notion was rooted in the earlier discourse on sati, where British women had been first called upon to rescue their Indian sisters. Carpenter’s role was to reprise this appeal. She brought India to the attention of a later generation of British feminists, who used the condition of Indian women to support their claims for inclusion in the political life of the imperial nation-state.92 The initial appeal to women to get involved—to raise funds, do mission work, even petition parliament—bore valuable fruit among the Victorians. The book that Carpenter published prior to her first visit to India is important in this context. The Last Days in England of the Rajah Rammohun Roy was inspired by Bengalis who trekked to Rammohun’s tomb because, as one wrote in Carpenter’s poetical extract book, his resting place “is a sacred place for Hindoo pilgrims.”93 Last Days is mostly a collation of previous publications by her father and others, and letters written by Rammohun or about him. It reprints passages from A Second Conference and Brief Remarks where Rammohun defended the intellectual and moral capacities of women, criticized their lack of educational opportunity, and pointed out how changes in inheritance laws encouraged sati and polygamy. Invoking her father’s praise, Carpenter printed accounts by others agreeing that the Bengali was a friend of women.94 In so far as Mary Carpenter deserves credit for renewing the sati campaign’s appeal to



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British women—this time to those openly seeking public careers and political influence through service in India—Rammohun Roy and his views on women should be read as part of the story of Victorian feminism. There are additional reasons for thinking this. Harriet Martineau emerged from a Unitarian upbringing similar to that of Mary Carpenter and even came under the influence of Lant Carpenter in her youth.95 Martineau earned fame and independence as a popularizer of political economy. Before she took up the dismal science, however, her favorite subject was religion. At the annual Unitarian meeting in May 1831, Martineau won a prize for essays on representing Unitarianism to other faiths. She shared the spotlight at that meeting with Rammohun, who had just arrived. Martineau was deeply touched: “Little as I had reckoned on the mere sight of him, I shall never forget it.” She noted that a “hundred [l]adies” pressed for an introduction, but she preferred to see Rammohun later “in peace and quietness.” She was moved when, during the singing of a hymn, she saw him sitting, head bowed, next to her “old friend,” Lant Carpenter.96 Martineau soon left Lant Carpenter, Unitarianism, and, so it would seem, Rammohun behind.97 She referred to the latter in a critique of literary lionizing,98 while fashioning a career for herself as a popular writer. Besides political economy, she took up abolition in America and the rights of women. She and Rammohun held similar views about the equal intellectual potential of the two sexes, property rights for women, and the socioeconomic causes of prostitution.99 The Bengali, however, was seldom on Martineau’s mind after she made the transition from Unitarian advocate to secular author.100 What about those other “hundred ladies” eager to meet Rammohun at that 1831 London meeting? Surely among them were members of Aspland’s congregation who a year earlier had petitioned to abolish sati. Many were probably readers of the Monthly Repository, which William J. Fox was transforming into a feminist journal. When Rammohun died, Fox eulogized him at his Finsbury chapel. Harriet Martineau composed a hymn for the occasion. Among other things, Fox praised Rammohun for his “noble exertions” to end sati and cited the concluding section of A Second Conference as “a noble and eloquent passage.” In the published version, Fox reprinted that section where Rammohun argued that women are not intellectually inferior by nature; that they are, if anything, superior to men in their capacity for being virtuous; and that Indian women are little more than household slaves. These sentiments, Fox noted, elevated Rammohun from a mere critic of a “particular instance of oppression of the female sex” into an advocate for the general improvement of women. The Bengali reformer favored “such amelioration of [women’s] education and condition as would give the amplest scope and highest direction to their influence on the mind, the morals, and the happiness of the whole human race.”101 With these comments, Fox situated Rammohun squarely in the discourse of British feminism. The previous year Fox had enunciated the social benefits of allowing women to develop and employ their talents and skills. Properly educated, women would “purify taste, and reform manners, and elevate morals, and by their influence bend institutions in the most beneficent direction!” They could then imbue children with “pure feelings, just principles, and noble purposes” and ensure a new generation of “patriots and poets, philosophers and philanthropists.” Reforms held back by brute force and blind prejudice would be pushed along by the unleashed potential of women. “To do all this,” Fox concluded, “is their business in the world.”102 Others in his circle made similar points, endorsing the special role for women in social improvement or pointing to their cramped educations and limited access to meaningful work as obstacles to progress.103





Lucy Aikin also thought Rammohun a champion of women. Aikin was of an earlier generation of educated Unitarian women. Her grandfather and father were tutors at Warrington academy, while her aunt helped run a school in Norwich where Harriet Martineau’s father was educated. That aunt, the poet and writer Anna Laetitia Barbauld, played a formative role in the lives of both Lucy Aikin and Harriet Martineau.104 Typically, Lucy Aikin’s education was a domestic one at the hands of her father and aunt. John Aikin encouraged intellectual accomplishments in his daughter, and as she matured he collaborated with her in publishing ventures, as he had with his sister. His progressive views and supportive habits made him, in the words of his daughter, “the sincerest friend of the female sex that I have ever known.” John Aikin believed that women should develop their minds and talents in order to become the companions and helpmates of men. Virtue and wisdom were not the monopoly of one sex, but open to all through proper education. Too much of the world’s business depends on women for them to be denied access to useful knowledge. Independence of mind, based on proper use of rational faculties, was universally good. Female talent was something to admire.105 Lucy Aikin held to these views throughout her life. She gave expression to them in works such as Epistles on Women (1810), in her many letters, and through her persistent championing of talented women writers. She admitted to a “great opinion of my sex” and was always ready to strike a blow for the idea that women should be treated as sisters and friends. In her mature years Aikin nurtured a network of female contacts whose intellectual qualities she prized. She boasted of personally knowing nearly all women of literary note in contemporary Britain. Some, such as Harriet Martineau, rejected her patronage. Others welcomed the support they received through her letters and at her Hampstead salon. That support could take published form, as in the memoirs that Aikin wrote of Elizabeth Benger and Joanna Baillie. The former she praised as an example of “female genius struggling into day” against obstacles that would have “daunted even the bolder energies of manly enterprise.” Aikin thought her lifelong friend Baillie—after her aunt—the preeminent literary woman in Britain. The Scotswoman’s “genius was surpassing, her character the most endearing and exalted.”106 Aikin was typical of the age in which she matured. Progressive women of the late eighteenth century promoted female education, celebrated the intellectual achievements of women, extolled female friendship and intimacy, and presided over literary salons.107 Aikin’s enthusiasm for Elizabeth Benger is illustrative. Benger launched her literary career as a teenager with The Female Geniad (1791). This took up where Mary Scott and others had left off, lauding women who had achieved literary greatness. It began “Hail Female Geniuses!” and celebrated women ranging from the ancients Sappho and Hortensia to modern Britons such as Lady Montagu, Catharine Macaulay, Hannah Cowley, and Elizabeth Inchbald.108 Left destitute by her father’s death, Benger supported herself and her mother, eking out a living writing poetry, novels, translations, and historical works. She was also a literary hostess of some repute before she died in 1827.109 Aikin shared Benger’s interest in celebrating women. Epistles on Women explores the ways in which women have distinguished themselves throughout history. It traces women as martyrs and resistors, as brave rulers, wise counselors, and courageous combatants, ending with the lines: Such were the dames who grace our storied page: Life’s guiding lamp they hand from age to age



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Aikin also wrote history. She published memoirs of the courts of Elizabeth, James I, and Charles I, perhaps inspiring her friend Benger to follow suit with accounts of Anne Boleyn and Mary, queen of Scots. Aikin attempted to get beyond political and military events into the private lives of men and women. She contemplated a final work on “letters and social life” in early eighteenth-century Britain. She thought of leaving “civil history” altogether out of this work so that she could concentrate on biography and enter “deeply into the subject of female manners and acquirements.”111 These efforts locate Aikin (and Benger) in an important historiographical transition. In the late eighteenth century, British historians began writing works aimed at female audiences, addressing social and cultural issues while employing narrative strategies borrowed from fiction.112 Women writers built on this in the following century, creating the new genre of historical biographies of famous women. Occupying a literary space between what was then serious history and sentimental fiction, such biographies directed attention at matters neglected by historians such as “dress, diet, education and manners.” In doing so, they laid the foundation for modern social and feminist history.113 History interested Aikin in other ways. It supplied evidence of the role of custom and law in the mistreatment of women. Women in classical times faced the fate of the women of Troy, wretched sexual and domestic slaves of the men who killed their husbands. Those avoiding this fate were still “fettered and debased, . . . a slavish lot.” The age of chivalry produced women “[u]nformed of manners, impotent of will” who became “the dupe[s] of Vanity, the slave[s] of Sense.” Anne Boleyn admitted that her marriage to Henry VIII was null and void to avoid being burnt at the stake, a punishment reserved only for women guilty of high treason. Outside of Europe was even greater evidence of sexual oppression. The men of New Holland courted their wives by clubbing them to the ground and dragging them to their new homes. Many North American Indians treated their wives as “beast[s] of burden”; consequently women practiced female infanticide to save daughters from a hellish existence. Turkish harems turned women into pampered slaves “[s]hut from the sun of reason and of wit.” And in India, The victim-widow laves in Ganges’ tide, Clasps the loathed corse [sic], invites the dreaded flame, And dies in anguish, not to live with shame.114

These last lines, published in 1810, indicate an interest in sati perhaps even older than that of Rammohun Roy. At this early date, Aikin could have come across reports of sati in European travel accounts or in a more recent work by Claudius Buchanan. She and her father were also avid readers of the Asiatic Journal, which she valued for its “entertaining and interesting orientalisms of every kind.”115 Her early awareness of the issue merged with an interest in Rammohun’s arguments. While others lionized him for demonstrating that sati was not enjoined by Hindu scripture, Aikin was drawn to his later writings where the social condition of women and inheritance law were examined. She likely had an early introduction to these writings, given her taste for reading the Asiatic Journal, which reprinted the entirety of Brief Remarks in 1823. But the words in her 1810 poem about widows choosing sati to avoid shame demonstrate concern for women’s motives and underlying factors predating contact with Rammohun’s publications.



Assert their sex beyond the loftiest pen, And live on tongues and reign in hearts of men.110


Aikin met Rammohun several times. She shared the general Unitarian interest in his religious views and exegetical skills. Her overriding interest, however, was his views on women. At one gathering in her Hampstead home, Rammohun “won our hearts,” Aikin wrote, by his “feeling for women” and “the admiration he expressed of the mental accomplishments of English ladies.” Joanna Baillie was one of those apparently won over that day. Baillie discussed Arianism with Rammohun and Aikin was relieved when the discussion turned to “Hindoo laws, especially those affecting women.” They also discussed polygamy and the abolition of sati. Aikin later recommended Rammohun’s 1832 volume of essays to a friend both for its religious views and because he “details the many cruelties and oppressions to which females in his country are subjected by the injustice and barbarity of the stronger sex.” The last was obviously in reference to the final paragraph of A Second Conference where Rammohun argued that Bengali women were treated worse than animals and were basically household slaves. Her comments echoed passages in Epistles on Women where Aikin had described the status of women in ancient Greece and among North American Indians. She also admired Rammohun for condemning polygamy and offering European women “a homage reverential as that of chivalry.” The fact that Rammohun was “justly scandalised” at the lack of zeal for the reform bill among British women won her approval too. After his death, Aikin eulogized Rammohun as she had her father: His memory I shall cherish with affectionate reverence on many accounts, but the character in which I best love to contemplate him is that of the friend and champion of woman. It is impossible to forget his righteous zeal against polygamy, his warm approval of the freedom allowed to women in Europe, his joy and pious gratitude for the abolition of suttee. Considering the prejudices of birth and education with which he had to contend, his constant advocacy of the rights and interests of the weaker sex seems to me the very strongest proof of his moral and intellectual greatness.116

Aikin’s admiration sparked rumors of a romantic relationship. According to the Court Journal, “The Rajah Ramohun [sic] Roy is said to have obtained the affections of the accomplished daughter of an eminent medical practitioner, who is likely to become Mistress Rammohun Roy.”117 Lucy Aikin fits perfectly the woman described. Whether she was the woman whom—according to gossip circulating after his death—Rammohun had privately married is a matter of conjecture.118 Lucy Aikin’s circle included other Unitarian women who likely shared her perspective on Rammohun. One candidate is Elizabeth Reid, founder of Bedford College. Throughout her life Reid remained “profoundly actuated” by her Unitarian beliefs. The ethical message of Jesus was important to her, and she translated love of humanity into social activism on behalf of women and slaves.119 Fond of hosting dinner parties, Reid surrounded herself with notable Unitarian women, including Aikin, Joanna Baillie, Harriet Martineau, and Julia Smith. The last was aunt of Barbara Leigh Smith (later Bodichon), and the two Smiths were associated with Bedford College at its inception. Julia Smith may have met Rammohun: on at least two occasions he was invited to dine with her father, once at the house of her brother, Benjamin, father of Barbara (a child of six at the time).120 It is also possible that Julia Smith met the Bengali on the two known occasions that Rammohun accepted Reid’s invitation to visit.121 No record exists of the discussions that took place. Given the women in Reid’s circle—who shared feminist views and strong antislavery opinions—it is hard to imagine that the conversations



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would have been much different than the ones recorded by Aikin. Indeed, Aikin often attended Reid’s soirees and may have been present with Rammohun.122 Important testimony on this matter comes from another member of Reid’s circle. Mary Clarke Mohl was born in Scotland but lived most of her adult life in Paris, where she presided over a literary salon. She was friends with fellow Unitarians Reid, Florence Nightingale, Hilary Bonham Carter, and Elizabeth Gaskell. Frequent visits and a steady stream of correspondence kept Mohl abreast of the work of others such as Mary Carpenter and Harriet Martineau. Mohl’s advanced views on women owed something to her mentors and role models, Elizabeth Benger and Juliette Récamier. Benger had befriended Mohl, introducing the teenaged Scot to her literary acquaintances. Mohl admired Benger for her intellect, her circle of cultivated friends, and her independence, earned by her own work. A portrait of Benger hung in Mohl’s drawing room in Paris.123 Madame Récamier was a prominent salon hostess of the first decades of the nineteenth century whom Mohl came to know in the 1830s. Récamier served as role model for Mohl’s own salon—where political and cultural conversation was also the order of the day—and as inspiration for Mohl’s Madame Récamier.124 Mohl shared the views of her Unitarian friends and other feminists. She deplored that most women were educated to please men, and she pleaded for alternatives to marriage. Mohl believed in developing women’s intellectual potential and supported Bedford College and other schemes for female education. She lamented how single women, lacking career opportunities, were ground down by household duties. The manner in which British women were cooped up and constantly watched drew her criticism, as did their inferior status under British law. She believed that the status of women was a marker of civilization: the more women were treated with respect—as companions and intellectual equals—the more advanced a society was. Experience with salon culture in France convinced her that that nation was ahead of Britain in this regard, an argument she pointedly made in Madame Récamier, an 1862 volume aimed at British audiences.125 Besides an account of Mohl’s mentor, Madame Récamier contains an analysis of the role of chivalry and salon culture in raising the status of women. Mohl also harbored plans to write a general history of women. It would be a history of manners, which she thought “more curious” than the history of wars.126 The second part of Madame Récamier indicates the work she envisaged. Society made a leap forward when women ceased to be treated as pawns in marriage alliances and instead valued for their intellectual talents and companionship. At this point women began making a unique contribution to civilization, refining manners and elevating the role of literature—and the men who wrote it.127 Another glimpse of Mohl’s intended history comes from her enthusiasm for Ernest Legouvé’s Histoire morale des femmes. Legouvé shared Mohl’s interest in women’s distinctive qualities. He coined the phrase “equality in difference,” later the slogan of French feminists in the Third Republic. Legouvé saw progress in the condition of women and provided historical examples of the march toward equality.128 Mohl wanted to include Indian women in her general history. Reading William Ward and attending missionary meetings in 1827—just as the anti-sati campaign was nearing its peak—were instrumental. Although she found evangelicalism problematic and distrusted missionary accounts—Ward is “a fool” and “writes like a pig”—Mohl became conscious of the “wretched” condition of women in India. Alluding to sati, Mohl wrote in 1827 that her history would address India and it would be a work of “gynaepophagy,” by which she apparently meant a study of the social or cultural devouring of women. To prepare herself, Mohl read James Mill’s History of British India. She also toyed with





learning Sanskrit and dreamed of visiting India.129 Her “great” work never materialized. Despite marrying a distinguished orientalist who nearly entered the employ of the East India Company,130 Mohl never progressed beyond thinking about India in the context of the progress of women. In Madame Récamier she did compare modern Indian women to their counterparts in ancient Greece, using both to emphasize the improved status of women in the age of chivalry. That work also suggested that a common Indo-Germanic culture explained why the men of Germany and Britain did not consider women intellectual companions the way the French did.131 But that was about as far as she got. Still, the subcontinent remained in Mohl’s consciousness. She conjured up the image of the Jagannath festival to describe the procession carrying Napoleon’s body to his Paris tomb. Florence Nightingale used the same image in a bitter letter to Mohl complaining how the family of Hilary Bonham Carter sacrificed her to domesticity.132 When a Hindu visited Paris in 1864, Mohl hosted a dinner party for him.133 The next year, Indian women were back on her mind too, thanks to Rammohun Roy. The occasion was the 1864 publication of a memoir of Lucy Aikin by Aikin’s nephew. That work brought back to Mohl pleasant memories of Elizabeth Benger introducing her to Aikin’s father and famous aunt. She also read with interest Aikin’s letter describing Rammohun’s 1832 volume of Vedanta and sati essays. Mohl asked Elizabeth Reid to send her a copy of that book. What caught her attention was Aikin’s description of the sati essays in that volume, which Mohl accurately paraphrased as praising Rammohun’s work for detailing the “cruelties and oppressions” imposed on Indian women, and for urging pity for them “with such powerful eloquence that no woman can peruse them without tears.”134 Other Unitarian women were moved too. In “Stapleton Grove,” M. A. meditated before the Bengali’s first grave, lamenting his early death and burial in a foreign land where “strangers’ tears have wept thine obsequies.” Alongside general praise— “Thy home,—wherever Freedom’s beacon shone”—the unidentified poet singled out Rammohun’s work on behalf of women: And grateful Woman heard the Brahmin’s tongue Proclaim her worth and plead her widowed cause.135

Mary Carpenter’s “On the Interment of the Rajah Rammohun Roy” lauded him as a champion of religious truth and of women. To lead thy race to that primeval truth Which, bright and pure, on all alike bestow’d, Points heavenward; and to guide them on the road Of Christian faith—was thine: but yet to soothe Neglected woman; to assert her right To drink of wells of everlasting life; To snatch her, trembling midst the dismal night Of pagan horrors, from the fiery strife Of dark-soul’d zealots—this must wake our love, This fervent raise our thanks for thee above.136

Similar sentiments could lead in different directions. Carpenter’s enthusiasm for rescue work eventually led her to India and female education there. Aikin and Mohl,



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however, shared an aversion to what Aikin called “the fashion of benevolence” among women.137 Hence, Aikin was cold to William Ellery Channing’s 1834 suggestion that British women memorialize Rammohun by making the improvement of Indian women their cause, as they had the abolition of slavery.138 Mohl was also unfriendly to the imperial idea: “Perish armies if their death shows a principle—and the glorious principle of not falling like brigands on people at the other side of the globe! I hope some day the Chinese will cut all our throats over here.”139 What animated Aikin and Mohl was promoting the life of the mind among women. Elizabeth Benger embodied their ideal of an independent woman contributing to the intellectual life of the nation. This connected them to a tradition of feminism that celebrated essayists, poets, dramatists, and the like. They became interested in social history to understand what hindered or assisted the development of women’s faculties and talents. Aikin admired Rammohun for respecting the potential and actual contributions of women, and for analyzing social and legal factors affecting the condition of Indian women. It is not clear if Mohl ever read Rammohun’s sati essays, but all the indications are for a response similar to that of Aikin. If so, she too would have shared William J. Fox’s assessment that Rammohun was much more than a critic of a form of female oppression peculiar to the subcontinent. Mary Carpenter’s response was different. She was one of those women for whom philanthropy led to an independent career and social influence. A reluctant supporter of women’s political rights—she had to be cajoled by J. S. Mill to sign the 1867 suffrage petition140 —Carpenter nonetheless typifies how humanitarianism shaped Victorian feminism. If belatedly, Rammohun helped Carpenter imagine the career that Channing had suggested to Aikin. This is why the campaign against sati needs to be set alongside the mobilization against slavery. In both, women were encouraged and motivated to assume new roles and public careers, develop organizational and leadership skills, and challenge the doctrine of separate spheres. This is not the only reason to connect Rammohun Roy, antislavery, and feminism. The spillover effect among humanitarians ensured that his fame circulated in antislavery circles. This is best illustrated by transatlantic sources. After 1833 many British abolitionist women turned their attention to North American slavery. This was facilitated by established patterns of transatlantic correspondence, exchange of news and literature, travel, and cooperation on the campaign against the slave trade. Quakers and Unitarians were prominent in this story. The networks they fashioned made it relatively easy for Britons to lend moral, literary, and financial support to antislavery across the Atlantic. Elizabeth Reid is a good example of the phenomenon.141 As we have seen, Rammohun’s name and writings circulated to North America through these networks. Unitarians interested in his theological opinions were largely responsible. Rammohun’s campaign against sati also drew their attention. David Reed, for example, printed in the Christian Register various accounts of widow burnings. On the front page of an 1823 issue he ran excerpts from Brief Remarks where Rammohun outlined the three choices left to most widows, the relationship between polygamy and sati, and the “actual sale of females” by families seeking marriage alliances. When sati was abolished, Reed reprinted Frances Martin’s letter to a Calcutta paper giving the credit to Rammohun. In 1832 he reminded readers of Rammohun’s argument connecting legal rights and sati, noting that the Bengali was then in Britain fighting to keep sati illegal.142 Reed was also an early abolitionist. His Boston paper contained numerous articles discussing the evils of slavery, dismissing the justifications offered in its defense, and





supporting various abolition schemes. Sometimes Reed’s interest in sati and slavery overlapped in the same or successive issues of the Christian Register.143 Readers could also find them prominently discussed in different issues. In April 1830, for instance, Reed praised Rammohun for helping end sati, and that October he published an account of three speeches by William Lloyd Garrison.144 This frequent juxtaposition provides a clue why one early American abolitionist found inspiration in Rammohun’s example. This unknown person printed a tract, probably in 1833, calling on the U.S. Congress to abolish slavery immediately. Whoever wrote this is not known, because (s)he chose to end the essay with this encomium: “In closing this address, allow me to assume the name of one of the most enlightened and benevolent of the human race now living, though not a white man.  .”145 It is not apparent if the author was a Unitarian or a woman. Both are not improbable, given what we know about Rammohun’s celebrity and American abolitionist women. The latter played an active role in petition drives of the 1830s calling on Congress to end slavery. In the 1840s they turned to organizing antislavery bazaars at which handicraft items produced by women were the main items offered for sale. These fundraisers became “the most dramatic and visible indications of women’s work in abolitionism during the 1840s and 1850s.”146 An incident involving locks of Rammohun’s hair is suggestive. In 1844 the Bristol Unitarian physician John B. Estlin and his daughter Mary sent a packet of goods to Samuel May, Jr., a Unitarian abolitionist in the Boston area. The Estlins were supporters of the Garrisonite faction in American abolitionism. The packet they dispatched in October 1844 contained items to be sold at an antislavery bazaar. John Estlin had attended Rammohun at his death and cut off some of his hair during the fatal illness147 (see figure 5.1). Estlin assured May that those locks of hair had been in his safekeeping. He and his daughter now placed six locks and six strands of Rammohun’s hair in separate envelopes for sale in Boston. May replied that these would find “ready purchasers” since there were many “who would rejoice to possess one of these undoubted relics of a most extraordinary man.” The relics, he added, were nicely displayed at a Boston fair.148 Interest in such relics was apparently quite high in American abolitionist women. Those not seated at the 1840 World Anti-Slavery Convention brought back from London locks of hair from the great abolitionist Thomas Clarkson, given to them by his daughter-in-law. Back in North America, these were divided up into individual strands of hair and distributed among the antislavery faithful.149 The incident at the World Anti-Slavery Convention was an important moment in the evolution of political feminism. North American abolitionists had already raised the “woman’s question” by challenging the doctrine of separate spheres and encouraging women to participate as petitioners, conventioneers, and public speakers. The British men running the London convention were more conservative and voted down the idea of seating female delegates. The issue was widely debated at the time. Elizabeth Cady Stanton was one of those refused a seat, and, years later, she identified the incident as a formative moment. This is borne out by a number of British women who attended the conference, were offended by the exclusion of the American women, and began friendships and correspondences with those not seated. Among these were Elizabeth Pease, later active in the campaign against the Contagious Diseases Acts; Mary Howitt, just emerging as a feminist author and journal editor; and Elizabeth Reid, who would soon found Bedford College.150 Rammohun Roy, then, was in hallowed company among Anglo-American abolitionist-feminists. Where such circles existed in the early Victorian period, a



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Figure 5.1 Two locks of Rammohun Roy’s hair. Photograph courtesy of Bristol City Museum and Art Gallery, UK.

connection to the Bengali reformer can often be found. Sometimes it is as ethereal as relics of hair; other times it is as concrete as Elizabeth Reid or Lucy Aikin seeking out Rammohun as a champion of women. It can be seen in the belated interest in his writings by Mary Mohl, as well as in Mary Carpenter’s slow blossoming desire to educate Indian women. Harriet Martineau’s early infatuation is another example, as perhaps is the decision to use his name by the anonymous author of the 1833 abolitionist pamphlet. William J. Fox exemplifies this combination of enthusiasm for antislavery, feminism, and Rammohun Roy.151




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Rammohun’s fame was not limited to activists interested in India, and his influence not restricted to those who challenged the divinity of Jesus. Many of his admirers were women, and not a few were opposed to slavery and contributed to an emerging women’s movement. Victorian humanitarianism and feminism were fed by many streams, including the encounter with widow burning in the early British Raj. Rammohun Roy’s celebrity is a reminder of this.


Liberty of the Press

The preceding chapters demonstrate how Rammohun Roy became a transnational celebrity through his religious and social reform activities. This status was amplified by free press and free trade activists who claimed the famous Bengali for their causes, extending his renown into political circles opposed to Old Corruption. Central to this story is James Silk Buckingham, whose improbable odyssey from provincial sailor to member of parliament owed everything to a stint as radical journalist and colonizing advocate in Calcutta. There he became a friend and ally of Rammohun. After his banishment to Britain, Buckingham helped reintroduce the famed Bengali to British audiences in the new guise of political radical. The current chapter will examine this process in the context of the campaign for a free press. In chapter 7, attention will be directed at the free trade movement, where others joined Buckingham in celebrating Rammohun. Buckingham grew up in the port of Falmouth, where seafaring and smuggling were major career opportunities. Following family tradition, Buckingham pursued both and eventually became a merchant captain. The Cornwall native tried his hand at various ventures in the Middle East, including a scheme to open up a Red Sea trade route linking Bombay and Egypt. This brought Buckingham to India in 1815, where he was deported for not possessing a license from the East India Company. A short while later, Buckingham returned to India possessing the license required of private Britons residing in Company territories. Refusing command of a slaving expedition, he settled in Calcutta in 1818 to pursue a career in journalism. Over the next five years, Buckingham honed his talents as a newspaper editor and political writer. He was soon a major figure in the nascent press of India.1 Buckingham had John Palmer to thank for his change of career. Palmer headed one of the important Calcutta agency houses—private enterprises engaging in banking, investment, shipping, estate services, and other activities. Agency houses were global operations, working with partner houses in Britain, Southeast Asia, and North America. As its empire grew, the East India Company increasingly relied on firms such as Palmer and Company to supply materials, provide loans, and remit funds. John Palmer built his success on personal attention to clients, particularly the Company officials and officers whose savings his firm repatriated to Britain. Thanks to a mixed-race extended family,



Chapter 6


Palmer worked closely with Indian merchants and financiers. He tapped their funds to supplement those drawn from Company sources in order to advance loans and invest in commodities such as indigo. The latter was crucial to savings repatriation, and Palmer carried a large portfolio of loans to indigo planters.2 It was Palmer’s idea that Buckingham edit a newspaper serving the needs of Calcutta merchants. The Calcutta Journal was launched in October 1818 and quickly prospered under Buckingham’s editorship. At its demise in 1823, he and Palmer were the chief proprietors.3 Throughout the paper’s existence, free trade and the interests of private merchants were a priority. Indigo planters, for example, were given ample opportunity to voice concerns about Company regulations.4 The Journal was committed to the cause of a free press. Buckingham grew into the role of radical journalist in Calcutta, prompted by concurrent developments in Bengal and Britain. The first Calcutta newspaper appeared in 1780, and by the end of the century there were seven weeklies in Bengal, as well as a few others in Madras and Bombay. These developments led local authorities to promulgate press regulations. In Bengal presidency, Governor-General Wellesley ordered in 1799 each newspaper to identify its editor and owners, as well as submit to government censorship, upon pain of deportation. The goal was to prevent the dissemination of news and opinions that might in any way jeopardize British power. In 1818 these rules were relaxed by the marquess of Hastings, then governor-general. Editors were still required to obey guidelines against bringing the government into disrepute, inflaming Indian opinion, or printing private scandals. But they no longer had to submit copy to a government censor in advance of publication. Until his departure five years later, Hastings handled the press with a light touch. This gave rise to the idea that a golden age of press freedom had begun in Bengal.5 Among those so persuaded was Buckingham, who began editing the Calcutta Journal shortly after Hastings’ new policy was announced. The novice editor championed the idea that a free press had a vital role to play by bringing public opinion to the attention of government. Buckingham made great use of letters from subscribers. Indigo planters, sati opponents, Eurasians, advocates of European settlement, disgruntled army officers, and others vented in the pages of the Calcutta Journal. According to his biographer, Buckingham was inundated with as many as fifty letters a day. Later, Buckingham claimed that this reading and contributing public included notable Indians such as Rammohun Roy and Dwarkanath Tagore.6 Buckingham also saw a free press as an important check against misgovernment, especially in Bengal, where no legislature existed to curb executive authority.7 The Calcutta Journal met this need by publishing subscribers’ letters and editorial columns critical of government policies and officials. An example of this was Buckingham’s early and frequent criticism of the Company’s sati policy. At times he gave voice to discontent in the military ranks and published critical comments on political appointments as well.8 Important here was the circulation of news from abroad. As in provincial Britain and North America, Buckingham relied on recycled copy to fill the pages of the Calcutta Journal.9 Some of this came from European or American journals—including a review of Rammohun’s tracts in the North American Review10 —but mostly Buckingham cribbed from British periodicals. It was an auspicious time to do so. The waning years of the Napoleonic wars and their aftermath were a contentious period in the history of the British press. William Cobbett found his voice as an editor outraged at political



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corruption and war profiteering. Others followed suit, making freedom of the press one of the great causes of radicalism during the postwar era. The government responded with prosecutions for seditious or blasphemous libel. In 1817 alone there were twenty-six trials for these offenses. Two years later, the events of “Peterloo” in Manchester exacerbated the situation. Another burst of radical journalism was followed by high-profile prosecutions: Richard Carlile was sentenced to prison for blasphemous libel, but it was his role in publicizing Peterloo as a massacre that doomed the editor of the Republican. The next year the government passed the Six Acts aimed largely at suppressing the radical press. Banishment for second convictions in cases of libel was introduced; the authorities were given greater power to search for libelous works; and loopholes in the newspaper tax laws were closed. Supporters of the Six Acts used the Cato Street conspiracy to justify the new legislation. A wave of prosecutions followed, directed particularly at Carlile’s circle and with the goal of silencing the radical press. But these met with little success. Carlile edited the Republican from prison and volunteers stepped forward to keep the paper in circulation, some 150 of them accumulating 200 years of jail time for their efforts. Punishment by banishment was never imposed.11 In India, meanwhile, Hastings was loosening restrictions on the press. This made it possible for Buckingham to fill the Calcutta Journal with news and commentaries— some recycled, some newly written—concerning events in Britain. He reported the trials of Carlile and other radicals, criticized the Six Acts, and satirized the argument that the Cato Street conspiracy demonstrated the dangers of a free press. The proposition that liberty of press was the birthright of Britons won his endorsement. Buckingham cited or reviewed Milton’s Areopagitica and Bentham’s On the Liberty of the Press, and Public Discussion. The importance of free discussion for promoting social improvement, checking misgovernment, and advancing knowledge was touted.12 He also followed Cobbett and other reformers in taking up the cause of Queen Caroline during the government’s crackdown on the press.13 Most of these issues Buckingham thought germane to the situation in India, where an indigenous newspaper tradition was taking shape. Rammohun Roy was an important pioneer, responsible for some of the first newspapers in Bengal. One of his ventures was the Bengali Samvada Kaumudi and another was the Persian-language Mirat al-Akhbar, which began publication in 1821 and 1822, respectively. Other newspapers appeared in 1822, including the Bengali Samachara Chandrika, launched by Rammohun’s orthodox opponents, and the Urdu/Persian weekly Jam-i-Jahan Nama. These last two had as their first editors individuals previously associated with Samvada Kaumudi.14 Rammohun filled his weeklies with matters both local and international, recycling news and commentary from European periodicals, printing subscribers’ letters, and publishing his own editorials. He also made use of the precolonial newsletters—produced by court writers and mostly pertaining to political or military matters—still circulating among Persian-literate elites. This is an instance of Rammohun’s role in the transition to a modern Bengali public.15 Rammohun’s journals promoted the cause of reform and improvement. The Kaumudi focused critical attention on sati, caste restrictions, wasteful expenditures, charity, marriage practices, and other matters. It also appealed to the British authorities to stop the export of rice, improve roads, provide greater access to Western medicine, create more cremation grounds, and introduce trial by jury. The Mirat was more theoretical and international in scope. Military events in the Ottoman Empire and the history and recent turmoil of Ireland drew its attention. There were editorials on the function



LIBERTY OF THE PRESS


and forms of government—constitutional monarchy got the nod as the ideal—and on the need for more checks against abuses of magisterial authority. In both newspapers Rammohun applauded a free press for diffusing knowledge and acquainting government with public opinion and grievances.16 Buckingham was deeply interested in Rammohun’s newspapers. So much so that contemporary critics thought the latter Buckingham’s protégé and mouthpiece. Later commentators contended that the two were journalistic partners, with Buckingham having a hand in editing the Mirat.17 This speculation was brought on by the significant space devoted to Rammohun’s papers in the Calcutta Journal. Buckingham reproduced their prospectuses, gave the table of contents for many issues, and published translations of select articles from each. Scholars ever since have been grateful, since a good deal of what is known of these newspapers comes from what was preserved in the Journal.18 Conservatives of the day, however, were concerned because Buckingham linked the Kaumudi and Mirat to the cause of liberty of the press. Essential to individual happiness and social progress, Buckingham argued, was the diffusion of knowledge. This was true in all nations, but especially India where, as he and most Britons saw it, ignorance and superstition held sway. Missionaries and improved schools could help, but it was the press—“this powerful Engine for spreading light and civilization”—that was most needed. Ignorance, Buckingham proclaimed as he introduced readers to the Samvada Kaumudi, “must rapidly give way to the operations of a Free Press.”19 Others agreed. In 1820 the Serampore missionaries published a review of a Bengali tract against idolatry, citing it as an example of the uninhibited discussion unleashed by “the perfect freedom of the native press.” Buckingham recycled portions of the review as a lead article under the headline “Native Press. On the Benefits to Be Expected from the Perfect Freedom of the Native Press in India.”20 Two years later, the missionaries returned to the theme, praising Hastings for encouraging “the diffusion of information” through his press policy. Ending sati, the Baptists argued, must begin with the enlightenment of Hindus, and Indian newspapers were essential to that project.21 Political benefits could also be anticipated. A free Indian press, Buckingham insisted, would bring public opinion to the attention of government. Grievances could then be redressed before these turned into discontent. East India Company officials would also have a better grasp of “the real condition of their subjects,” which would “better able [them] to watch over and promote their [subjects’] happiness.” And a free press would bring public scrutiny to bear on government affairs, as valuable in India as elsewhere. Buckingham brought these arguments together when he applauded the founding of Rammohun’s Mirat al-Akhbar: the “Press, freely exercised, . . . is as necessary to the well being of the body politic as the faculty of vision to a living animal.”22 This was disputed by those fearful that liberty of the press would endanger the colonial enterprise. Indians, so went the argument, were not yet ready for the benefits of open discussion of government. They lacked the constitutional system and practices, the political traditions and habits that made a free press possible and desirable in Britain. Introduced prematurely into India, an unlicensed press would foment discontent and unrest. The turbulent events in Britain after the Napoleonic wars were a warning: what was to prevent the Kaumudi from becoming “a firebrand” paper like Sherwin’s Weekly Political Register, asked one skeptic.23 The possibility that Rammohun was another Richard Carlile was a smokescreen, however. The real danger in the eyes of conservatives was the Calcutta Journal and its radical editor. In 1823 this danger was dealt with in summary fashion. After several scrapes with the Calcutta authorities over the content of his newspaper, Buckingham had his license



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to reside in India revoked and was forced to leave. Soon after, the Calcutta Journal was suppressed at great financial cost to Buckingham. One of his assistants, Sandford Arnot, was also deported. In addition, new press regulations were released, reintroducing licensing of the press and prohibiting discussion of sensitive topics, among other restrictions. These familiar events require no additional comment,24 except regarding the Tory ministry’s role in these events. Most of the responsibility for Buckingham’s expulsion and the new regulations resided with John Adam. Adam was a member of the governor-general’s council and had consistently opposed deregulation of the press. When Hastings departed India, Adam became the officiating governor-general. He promptly ordered Buckingham to leave India and shortly thereafter introduced licensing and other restrictions on the press.25 All this could have been undone by Hastings’ replacement, Lord Amherst, who arrived in August 1823. This did not happen, for reasons that became clearer only later. In March 1823, just before Amherst’s departure, Lord Liverpool’s government reached a secret agreement with the Company’s directors that the new governor-general was to have a free hand in putting down “the licentiousness of the Calcutta press.”26 Liverpool’s ministry was as concerned about the radical press in India as they were with the one at home. But the Tories were also wary of introducing more antipress legislation in parliament. Most Whigs had criticized the Six Acts as an overreaction. Existing libel laws, they argued, were a sufficient control and there was no need for the penalty of banishment, which was without precedent in all of Europe. This opposition is one reason that no judge ever imposed the penalty.27 It also explains why the Liverpool ministry was cautious about India. Shortly after the Six Acts were passed, Liverpool and George Canning vetoed the Court of Directors’ plan to reintroduce press censorship in India because, as Canning noted, the plan “will rebound hither: & it therefore cannot be considered as a purely India question.”28 Three years later, they were still reluctant to give the opposition an opening in parliament on the issue, rejecting the directors’ request to return to a licensing system. Instead, the Tory ministers stressed that the existing powers of the Calcutta government—particularly that of deportation of European editors— were sufficient to curb the press.29 The directors heard that message again a few months later when they renewed their plea to license the press in India. The additional evidence they presented regarding the spread of radical ideas to Persian-language newspapers was to no avail.30 What they could count on, however, was support from the Liverpool administration for a vigorous use of the power of deportation. Bengal and Britain were thus two fronts in the Tory campaign against the radical press.31 Rammohun Roy factors into this story in two ways. One of the Persian-language papers used in 1823 to support the Court of Directors’ proposal to license the press was Mirat al-Akhbar. Since the Tories had no interest in a licensing system, little came to pass in Britain of this attention to Rammohun’s editorship.32 The same cannot be said of his now famous reaction to Adam’s press policy. Rammohun organized a memorial to the Supreme Court of Bengal, asking that the new press regulations not be registered into law. When that failed, Rammohun closed down the Mirat, citing the new regulations as the reason. Then he took the lead in drafting a petition requesting the privy council to rescind Adam’s regulations. He sent a copy of the petition to George Canning, asking the foreign secretary take up the matter personally. In the memorial to the Supreme Court, Rammohun briefly reiterated the argument that he and Buckingham had made regarding the role of a free press in diffusing knowledge, promoting social progress, and keeping government informed about public opinion. He refined this point by stressing the growing loyalty of Indians as they came





to appreciate the blessings of British rule. This was obviously a rhetorical strategy designed to disarm those who claimed that a free press endangered the colonial system. Rammohun’s argument, however, also anticipated that of early Indian nationalists who professed loyalty to the colonial government for the improvements it introduced, but criticized the British for failing to deliver on key promises.33 Founding schools and establishing new courts had created “feelings of loyalty and attachment,” but the reversal of policy on the press endangered this. Public awareness of the benefits of British rule would be reduced, and communication of Indian grievances and opinions to the authorities in Calcutta and London restricted. Surely, Rammohun concluded, the British government was aware that a people become more loyal as they enjoy the benefits of good government, of which a free press was one.34 Closing down the Mirat was occasioned as much by financial necessity as any desire to defend press freedoms. Still, Rammohun seized the opportunity to criticize Adam’s regulations, which he found humiliating and discouraging.35 As we shall shortly see, Buckingham and others would make great use of the closure of the Mirat, as they did Rammohun’s petition to the privy council. This last document elaborated on the themes presented in the memorial to the Supreme Court. The argument was more sophisticated, but the rhetorical strategy remained the same. A free press was one of those blessings of British rule that improved society and fostered political loyalty, thus benefiting both the people and their government. Ending it was an invasion of civil rights and weakened the bonds of allegiance between Bengalis and their government. In the petition Rammohun argued that the British had freed Bengalis from Muslim tyranny, offering them the same civil rights enjoyed by Britons at home. Consequently, the people viewed their colonial rulers not as conquerors, but “rather as deliverers,” and social and intellectual improvement set in under “the cheering influence of equitable and indulgent treatment.” Bengalis appreciated their improved condition and new rights, and had yet to abuse the latter. As proof, Rammohun cited the concluding section to his Final Appeal to the Christian Public, where he had thanked the British for delivering his country from tyranny and for extending to it their love of liberty and desire for social improvement. He also quoted a passage from the Friend of India where missionaries noted that Indian newspapers were rousing the people from intellectual lethargy without abusing the liberty given to the press.36 All these advantages were now in jeopardy. Adam had arbitrarily overturned established regulations, depriving Indians of “legal privileges of long standing, without the least pretence that we have ever abused them.” Compounding matters, the Supreme Court had violated the law by conniving with Adam prior to official review of the new press regulations. This voided a vital judicial check on abuse of power, raising fears that “the most valuable and sacred of their [Indians’] rights may, as in this instance, be suddenly snatched from them.” Existing laws against treason or sedition rendered unnecessary the new regulations, whose real purpose was “the suppression of public remark on the conduct of public Officers of Government in India.” This would render it more difficult for the government to receive “impartial information” about the impact of their policies on Indians.37 Rammohun warned that Adam’s new regulations might prove dangerous. The people of Bengal had suffered Christian missionaries in their presence because they had “the freedom of the Press to combat the writings of English missionaries” and were confident that government had no interest in changing their religion. But if the latter were to change, Bengalis “would be absolutely prohibited by the present Restrictions



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from intimating the appalling intelligence to their countrymen.” This was hypothetical, but other discontent was not. British rule had deprived Hindus of important benefits they had previously enjoyed under Muslim rulers, including high political and military office, land grants, and support for their learning. Against these losses, Hindus had consoled themselves with the greater security of the civil and religious rights they now enjoyed. But if those rights were to be placed “at the mercy of one or two individuals,” then the basis of their hopes for improvement “will be destroyed.” Moreover, the new regulations—passed after Buckingham’s departure—gave the impression that the Indian press was being punished for the actions of one individual. Surely, the king and his ministers in Britain did not wish to sustain the impression that “it is British justice to punish millions for the fault imputed to one individual.”38 This eloquent warning and appeal for justice found its way to Britain. As with his religious writings, Rammohun sent copies to London, including one to Canning and another to the Board of Control. The latter was forwarded by Leicester Stanhope, who assured Rammohun that it had been “graciously received” by the Board on behalf of the king.39 It seems, however, that the petition never made it to the privy council. Upon returning from India, Buckingham initiated an appeal to that council against Adam’s press regulations, which was heard on May 23, 1825. During argumentation, Buckingham’s lead counsel—Thomas Denman—attempted to introduce Rammohun’s petition into the proceedings, only to be rebuffed by the privy council president, who informed Denman that “We have never seen it.”40 The incident is revealing. Denman was then common serjeant at Old Bailey, a member of parliament, and famous for defending Queen Caroline during her 1820 trial before the House of Lords. Oddly, sitting opposite him in Buckingham’s appeal was Henry Brougham, who successfully objected to Denman’s attempt to read into the record Rammohun’s petition.41 Denman and Brougham were good friends and of similar political and legal sentiments. They had teamed together defending the queen and both would become members of Earl Grey’s ministry, with Brougham responsible for Denman’s appointment as lord chief justice and elevation to a peerage.42 As attorney general, Denman would play a role in the Whigs’ crackdown on radicalism, prosecuting Captain Swing agitators, as well as Richard Carlile and William Cobbett for seditious libel.43 Prior to this, however, Denman was of a different temperament. He was educated at Anna Laetitia Barbauld’s school and remained close to the Aikin family in later life.44 He first gained lawyerly renown for his defense of Luddites in 1816–1817. In 1819 Denman offered his legal services pro bono to a radical bookseller convicted for selling William Hone’s religious parodies. A year later, he defended Sir Francis Burdett in the latter’s trial for seditious libel. At Old Bailey, he presided over the 1822 blasphemy trial of one of Carlile’s assistants, Humphrey Boyle, allowing Boyle a speech describing the Bible as an “obscene book,” something most other judges would not have done. While first in Commons (1819–1826), Denman spoke in favor of various reform issues, including parliamentary reform, abolition of slavery, and free trade. He opposed the Six Acts and the Tories’ harsh measures in Ireland. On several occasions he rose to defend press freedoms. One of these was during an 1824 debate on Buckingham’s expulsion from India.45 This debate and the appeal to the privy council were part of Buckingham’s campaign against the East India Company. Initially he sought permission to return to India, and then compensation for financial losses arising from suppression of the Calcutta Journal.





Along the way, Buckingham’s case became a cause célèbre among Whigs and Radicals. Besides Denman and Burdett, “Radical Jack” Lambton (later first earl of Durham), Lord John Russell, Joseph Hume, Daniel O’Connell, and Jeremy Bentham were among those voicing support, lobbying, or opening their purses for Buckingham. Concern about his financial losses—kept alive by Buckingham’s relentless efforts—continued for decades in these circles. Russell, for example, chaired an 1834 select committee investigating the suppression of the Calcutta Journal. Although the committee recommended compensation for Buckingham, the Company never paid anything. A public subscription campaign in 1836 raised funds for an annuity for Buckingham and his wife; major contributors included the duke of Devonshire, Hume, and O’Connell. Meanwhile, Grey’s ministry briefly employed Buckingham “to supply friendly newspapers with officially inspired articles.” In 1851 Russell awarded Buckingham a place on the civil list with an annual pension.46 Less long-lasting, but no less intense, was interest in Buckingham’s case as an attempt to stifle the political press. In the mid-1820s various prominent figures took up Buckingham’s cause with an eye on the Six Acts. Denman was one of these. He argued in parliament and before the privy council that the actions taken against Buckingham were repugnant to the laws of England, that existing libel laws were a sufficient check on press abuses, and that Adam’s regulations were unnecessary. This was an echo of the opposition’s position on the Six Acts. In 1819 Denman had spoken in Commons against banishment—a punishment “totally unknown to the law of England”—because the penalties availing under prevailing law were harsh enough. He also objected then to giving judges “the most enormous and unheard of powers” to impose exile of indeterminate length on respectable booksellers already facing ruin under existing law. In 1824 Denman reiterated these sentiments, offering members of Commons a sympathetic portrait of Buckingham as one “torn . . . from his business, from his family, from all his hopes, and . . . sent . . . to a distant country, where he was ruined.” Evoking the familiar notion that the air of England was too pure for slavery to exist, Denman found this unacceptable: “It was horrible to see any thing like an attempt to introduce into this country that Indian atmosphere which he for one was not prepared to breathe.” The allusion was clear enough: the Six Acts and Adam’s actions were despotic and un-English.47 Denman also disputed the notion that English liberties were inappropriate in the colonial context. The Company’s defense team and supporters in Britain argued that liberty of the press was suited to Britain, but not India. No real public existed, and the dangers of incitement were real, given the small European population. A free press for a free people was a good thing, but a free press for a conquered people was foolhardy. Indians might one day be ready for such liberties, but that day was long off. As Robert Spankie told the privy council: “It will require the lapse of a thousand years for the people of [India], if at all capable of it, to arrive at any thing like a European civilization, and the enlightened freedom of mind Europeans enjoy.”48 To these arguments, Denman had much to say. English law was English law at home and in the colonies, and Adam’s press regulations were “in direct and known repugnance to the existing laws of England.” It was not free discussion, but its suppression, that caused discontent. The Company wished to prevent public scrutiny of its actions. It acted as if Indians responded to “power, power, power alone,” but never to moderation and justice, as did people everywhere else. But why is the native to have no share in the Government,—why is he to be overlooked and despised? Is it because his clothes are of a different cut to our own, that



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Liberty of the press was not the end result of societal development, but an engine of moral and social improvement. Indians had already tasted the benefits of a free press, and snatching it from them now would only encourage distrust and disloyalty. If their administration was just and fair, the British had nothing to fear. “Where is the case,” Denman asked the privy council, “that any people ever overthrew a just and wise government by paper pellets?”49 Denman was not alone. Others out to defend Buckingham denounced the idea that India was not ready for English liberties. They too emphasized the benefits of a free press in checking abuse of power, promoting social improvement, and encouraging loyalty.50 Some followed Denman in bringing Rammohun Roy into the discussion. Joseph Hume, for instance, wished that his honorable colleagues in Commons “would read the address of Ram Mohun Roy, a learned native, in favour of a free press” so that they could appreciate the intellectual progress underway in India, progress threatened by Adam’s regulations.51 At the Court of Proprietors Hume went one step further, reading passages from Rammohun’s memorial in a speech on the benefits of a free press in India. He also cited Rammohun’s newspaper (presumably the Kaumudi) and its clashes with a rival paper as proof of the advance of intellect underway. In addition, Hume pointed to another, unnamed Indian journal devoted to suppressing sati, a cause now endangered by Adam’s regulations. Getting slightly confused, Hume claimed as well that Rammohun’s paper had been “put down by Mr. Adam.”52 Douglas Kinnaird also read passages from Rammohun’s memorial in a speech to the Court of Proprietors. Kinnaird’s strategy was to use Rammohun—“a native of great and acknowledged learning and ability”—to drive home the point that Indians were loyal because they partook equally in the rights and liberties of Britons. It was not liberty, Kinnaird suggested, but despotism that threatened British rule in India.53 Colonel James Young also brought Rammohun’s ideas into an 1825 essay in the Westminster Review.54 Young was former secretary to Governor-General Hastings and a recent convert to Jeremy Bentham’s views.55 His article applied the latter’s ideas to the colonial context. The greatest security against misrule was checking the “natural rapacity” of the ruling few, and in India, as elsewhere, this was best accomplished by publicity, “the only guarantee for good government.” A vital organ of publicity is a free press, and circumstances in India elevated its importance. The lack of other checks on abuse of power, the great responsibilities devolved on isolated administrators, the crowd of British adventurers flocking to India for quick profits, the great distance from British newspapers and public opinion—all these factors magnified the need for an unfettered press in India. To the “hobgoblin fallacy” that a free press would provoke revolt, Young agreed with Kinnaird that despotism was the culprit here, pointing to the various mutinies that took place during times of press censorship. The surest way to secure loyalty was good government: “Govern India well, and there is nothing to fear from India.” As proof, Young cited Rammohun’s memorial to the Supreme Court, quoting a passage regarding the “unshaken loyalty” of Indians to British rule. He did not mention Rammohun’s name, but not for lack of information. As chapter 9 indicates, the colonel was one of those who brought Rammohun to the attention of Bentham. Young made another allusion to the Bengali reformer in his Westminster Review essay. Against the “illegal and un-English” edicts of Adam, Young pointed to “those halcyon days”



it is to be supposed he has a mind not capable of acting upon the principles which uniformly sway the conduct of all mankind?


of Lord Hastings when the press in India was free, Indians had established their own newspapers, and the march of progress was underway.56 All these references and allusions to Rammohun exasperated one of Adam’s defenders. In a speech before the Court of Proprietors, John Malcolm wished that the Bengali had stuck to being a munshi, providing the British with information about the history and culture of his homeland, rather than indulging in “useless schemes of speculative policy.”57 Obviously, various Whigs and Radicals thought otherwise. But how, exactly, did they come to appreciate Rammohun’s contribution to one of their favorite causes? The answer lies with two men, Leicester Stanhope and Buckingham. Stanhope was a career military officer who served in India and elsewhere. He returned from the subcontinent in 1821 and was promoted to lieutenant-colonel on half-pay in 1823. That year Stanhope published a book on the press in India, came into Bentham’s circle, and went to Greece on behalf of the London Greek Committee. There he worked with Byron before being recalled by the British government for his radicalism. Stanhope accompanied the poet’s body back to Britain and published a book on Greece in 1824. In 1837 he became a full colonel and succeeded his brother as the fifth earl of Harrington in 1851.58 A reformer, Stanhope published an anonymous tract against flogging in 1813. After returning from India, he was consumed with the idea that education and a free press were the engines of social progress. In 1821 and 1822 Stanhope enunciated this in speeches and letters that were reprinted in his 1823 Sketch of the History and Influence of the Press in British India. Preaching that same message incessantly in Greece over the next two years earned Stanhope a derisive nickname: the “Typographical Colonel.” He viewed India and Greece as similarly disadvantaged societies, places where schools and newspapers would diffuse useful information and generate reform among people oppressed by despotism. The Reformation was Stanhope’s point of reference, offering proof of the printed page’s revolutionary potential.59 Fred Rosen depicts Stanhope as an authoritarian liberal. Comments that the Greeks were children needing instruction in the “ABC of good government” support this.60 This characterization, however, does not do Stanhope justice. To the argument that liberties enjoyed by Britons were only suitable in advanced societies, Stanhope answered that Akbar had heard petitions from his subjects and that freedom of writing existed in India before the advent of colonial rule. He challenged the idea that a free press would cause turmoil among Indians and Greeks accustomed to despotic governments. One of Stanhope’s strongest convictions was that liberty was not a gift reserved for advanced societies alone, but a necessary condition for social progress. England offered proof of this: the liberties protected by Alfred and enshrined in the Magna Carta were not a product, but a cause of English progress. Those who said Indians were not yet advanced enough for such things as a free press were like “that fond granny, who would not allow her son to bathe, till he could swim.”61 Stanhope found examples from around the world to prove the benefits of a free press and the negative results of censorship. In Prussia and the new republic in North America, freedom of discussion and expression diffused new ideas, promoted social and economic development, and prevented political grievances from becoming seething discontent. The French Revolution was a stark reminder of what illiberal press policies could produce, as was the abject condition of public discussion under Napoleon. Wherever censorship was the rule, revolution hung in the air, Stanhope warned.62 India had lessons to offer here. A “glorious revolution” was underway in that land, Stanhope noted, thanks to the dissemination of ideas and a spirit of critical inquiry



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unleashed by liberal press policies. Superstition, ignorance, and inhumane customs such as sati were on the retreat, because missionaries and Hindu reformers could now openly question long-standing religious and social practices. Stanhope listed examples of the Indian contribution to this movement, giving the lion’s share of attention to someone he knew needed no introduction to British audiences. That person was, of course, Rammohun Roy, whose character, as Stanhope put it, “was perfectly well known.” In public oratory and on printed page, “the great Hindoo Reformer” had exposed “the cruelties and polytheism” of Hinduism, its “impostures” and “absurdities,” as well as “the frauds and artifices by which the Brahmins exercise a mental tyranny over their votaries.” Thanks to the efforts of Rammohun and others, enthusiasm for the Jagannath festival was waning, Stanhope claimed. A free press was accomplishing what the coercive measures of Islamic rulers and Portuguese inquisitors could never do.63 It is not evident, however, that the “Typographical Colonel” enjoyed much support. (Bentham was an exception, as we will see in chapter 9.) In 1827 Stanhope introduced a resolution in the Court of Proprietors calling on the East India Company to repudiate licensing of the press in India. He reiterated there his usual arguments about the value of a free press. Stanhope also appealed to “the celebrated name of Rammohun Roy” and quoted passages from the latter’s petition to the privy council. Yet, few rose to support his resolution, which “was negatived by a very great majority.”64 It is James Silk Buckingham’s opportunism and endless self-promotion that best explains how Whigs and Radicals came to associate Rammohun with their cause. After initially seeking permission to return to Calcutta, Buckingham settled down into political journalism. Raising funds from supporters, he launched in early 1824 the Oriental Herald, and Colonial Review and a daily London newspaper. The latter folded quickly, but the monthly Herald lasted for nearly six years, serving as a counterpoise to the Company’s semiofficial organ, the Asiatic Journal. Buckingham’s publishing ventures were supported by Radicals. When the Oriental Herald was endangered by financial troubles in 1826, for example, donations from supporters kept it afloat. Among the contributors were those who spoke on his behalf in parliament or at India House, including Lambton, Burdett, Hume, and Kinnaird.65 Buckingham envisaged the Oriental Herald as a vehicle for improved understanding about India and the empire. He claimed that the principle of utility would be always kept in mind, an obvious nod in Bentham’s direction.66 From the start, his journal was an archenemy of the East India Company. Initially, this took the form of intense attention to events surrounding Buckingham’s own case, which was portrayed as an assault on liberty of the press. The first issue opened with a quotation from Milton’s Areopagitica and an endorsement of the poet’s maxim that truth is best served by giving it a free hand in the public arena. Over half of the remainder of that issue addressed matters associated with Buckingham’s expulsion.67 Succeeding numbers contained numerous pages devoted to these subjects, so many, in fact, that readers came to think the Oriental Herald an organ of self-promotion.68 A modern commentator agreed: the journal was both a vehicle for attacking the Company and “a convenient medium for keeping Buckingham himself, his hardships and ill-treatment before the world.”69 Buckingham did address causes greater than himself in the Oriental Herald. He reiterated his—and Stanhope’s—faith in liberty of the press as an engine of progress, insisting that it could do for India what it had already done for England.70 Buckingham endorsed many of Bentham’s ideas, including the greatest good of the greatest number, publicity as security against misrule, and the public opinion tribunal.71 The “odious” Six Acts were denounced in the Oriental Herald, or shown to be ineffectual in curbing the





press.72 Also criticized was the idea that colonial rule in India was by necessity despotic and British liberties inappropriate there.73 In addition, Buckingham argued that the British public needed to take more interest in Indian and colonial affairs, as well as responsibility for what transpired in the empire, and he claimed credit for helping do just that.74 The name of Rammohun Roy cropped up often in the Oriental Herald. Buckingham printed the memorial to the Supreme Court and the petition to the privy council, linking Rammohun repeatedly by name to both. He lavished special attention on the memorial, describing it as “masterly and unanswerable.”75 Stanhope’s letter to Rammohun indicating—incorrectly, as it turns out—that the petition had been received by the king was first published in the Oriental Herald.76 In addition, Buckingham publicized Rammohun’s closure of the Mirat al-Akhbar, citing this as crucial evidence that Adam’s press regulations would cripple the emergent Indian press and stifle intellectual progress.77 More generally, he lauded Rammohun’s advocacy of rational religion, embrace of Christianity, and campaign against sati as evidence of a spirit of improvement threatened by censorship.78 There was also the pointed observation that the British had no truer friend than Rammohun, who had been forced into protesting their policies and giving up his important journalistic work.79 Similar views expressed by J. C. L. de Sismondi also appeared in Buckingham’s journal.80 Rammohun Roy was a key exhibit in Buckingham’s indictment of the East India Company’s press policy. Central to this strategy was Rammohun’s celebrity status. Everyone knew, Buckingham noted, the great reformer for his writings against mainstream Hinduism, his embrace of Unitarian Christianity, and his critique of widow burning. What better proof was there of the value of free discussion and the diffusion of knowledge than the words and deeds of “the justly celebrated Ram Mohun Roy”—“that most highly gifted apostle of all that is good to his benighted fellow-subjects”?81 What clearer evidence of the harmful nature of Adam’s press regulations, than that they led Rammohun to close the Mirat, obstructing the process by which “some of the natives of India had begun to use the press, as the means of enlightening their countrymen”?82 A letter printed by Buckingham summed up the impact of Adam’s “gagging bill”: the only Native, as I hear of, who had made any considerable use of the press, and who must therefore be the chief sufferer under the new “gagging bill,” is that excellent Christian man, Rammohun Roy, who had practically proved, by his astonishing publications, that the fullest discussion might be freely and safely employed, even on the most tender of subjects,—religion, caste, and the abuses of the priesthood,—and even among the most ignorant and bigotted of mankind, the Hindoos.83

Rammohun illustrated in other ways the Company’s failed policies. That someone lauded across the globe found no reward from his own government was damning in Buckingham’s view. Rammohun Roy, a man, whose talents and acquirements are known and admired in every part of the world, what countenance or mark of distinction has he ever enjoyed from the Company’s government? None whatever: it has rather scowled upon him with jealous dislike, as if his superior attainments were treason against the state. His learning, talents, and virtues, would have secured him greater honour if he had been born the subject of the most barbarous despot on earth. But in India they do not avail him a single straw, and only render the general degradation of his countrymen the more strikingly conspicuous.84



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To make matters worse, the Company had driven this loyal subject and apostle of progress into open protest.85 A government that could transform the great Rammohun Roy into its vocal critic was not fit to administer India—this was Buckingham’s message. It was a message that resonated with Whigs and Radicals in the mid-1820s. Those who cited Rammohun’s example while defending Buckingham and liberty of the press depended on the Oriental Herald for their information about the Bengali reformer. Joseph Hume, Douglas Kinnaird, and James Young all relied on the memorial to the Supreme Court that first appeared in Buckingham’s monthly. (Young even provided a reference, with page numbers.) When Thomas Denman tried to read Rammohun’s petition into the record at the May 23, 1825 session of the privy council, he used a printed copy that likely were proofs or actual pages from the Oriental Herald, which that month brought the petition into print.86 To these advocates of a free press, Rammohun provided important evidence regarding the virtues of liberty. Hume used his example to emphasize the danger of suppressing the press, which was vital to diffusing knowledge and weakening superstitions.87 Young brought Rammohun into an analysis of the vital need for publicity in a land where no other security against misrule existed.88 Denman and Kinnaird found additional reason to include Rammohun in the discussion. In his memorial and petition, Rammohun had indicated gratitude for new liberties bestowed by the British. But those documents also contained a warning: Hindus had lost political privileges and influence under colonial rule and would view with alarm restrictions on liberties that they regarded as compensation for those losses. Buckingham never really took notice of this veiled threat, but Denman hinted at it in remarks to the privy council about Indian gratitude to Lord Hastings and Indian discontent with Adam’s regulations.89 Kinnaird was more explicit, reading to the Court of Proprietors the passage from the memorial where Rammohun indicated that the “sudden deprivation” of one their most precious rights—liberty of the press—would make it impossible for Bengalis to think themselves “fortunately placed by Providence under the protection of the whole British nation.”90 Despotism was the real threat to the Raj, Denman and Kinnaird argued. Rammohun proved that liberty was its surest foundation. In Rammohun Roy, then, Whigs and Radicals saw the principle of liberty vindicated. This occurred at a time when those in power at home and in India colluded to curb press freedoms, fearing the influence of the radical press in both colony and metropole. There were differences of opinion among conservatives, particularly about reintroducing censorship or licensing in India. Mindful of likely parliamentary opposition to more press restrictions in the wake of the Six Acts, Liverpool’s ministry preferred that the East India Company use its power of deportation to keep the Calcutta press in check. Although this would not become public knowledge until the 1830s, connections between press policies at home and in India were plain enough at the time. Buckingham’s banishment, in particular, was a stark reminder of the threat hanging over British journalists after 1819. Taking up his cause was part of the battle against the hated Six Acts and a way to defend freedom of the press. More generally, denouncing the idea that British rule in India had to be despotic provided a fresh opportunity to sing the praises of liberty. As Denman put it, in governing India there was too much emphasis on “power, power, power alone” and too little trust in the virtues of “justice, and moderation, and prudence.”91







Free Trade and a Reformed Parliament

As the 1820s wore on, James Silk Buckingham’s personal campaign against the East India Company increasingly became a crusade for free trade. He did not abandon his compensation claims or cease reminding readers that freedom of the press at home and in India were linked. In 1828, for instance, Buckingham opined that the 1799 censorship regulation of Governor-General Wellesley was part of a larger conspiracy. The “deeplaid scheme” was “to familiarize the mind to restraint in the colonies, and to serve as a precedent, which might afterwards be applied, in due season, at home.” Proof of this came at the time of the “odious” Six Acts, when the Tories considered reintroducing censorship in Britain.1 Such matters, however, increasingly took a backseat to free trade in the Oriental Herald. Initially, Buckingham focused on colonization, or the unrestricted settlement of Europeans in India. This issue was closely associated with the indigo planters of Bengal, whose interests Buckingham had long supported. By the end of the decade, Buckingham was more interested in abolishing the Company’s monopoly of trade to China. Along the way, Buckingham discovered a talent for public speaking. Crisscrossing Britain on speaking tours, he acquired a new following among the provincial middle classes. One result of his itinerant lecturing was an eruption of public sentiment in favor of free trade to China. Another was the election of Buckingham to the reformed parliament. A third was the reintroduction of Rammohun Roy in the guise of free trade advocate. A constant theme in the Oriental Herald was condemnation of the East India Company as a monopoly and a government misruling India.2 The situation of indigo planters exemplified both. One of the Company’s privileges was controlling European settlement in its territories. This was accomplished by restricting land holding in the interior and wielding the power of deportation. The first challenge to this came in Ceylon, which passed from the Company to Crown rule in 1802. Thanks to Sir Alexander Johnston, restrictions on colonization on the island were lifted in 1810. Johnston also recommended ending deportations without trial and other measures to encourage European settlement. He also advised leading Whig politicians on the advantages of introducing similar measures in India.3 In 1824 the Company relaxed its regulations on land holding for coffee plantations. Indigo planters were unaffected and most continued to use Indian associates as nominal land holders. At an 1827 public meeting in Calcutta, speakers called for



Chapter 7


lifting restrictions on European land holding and ending arbitrary deportations. An 1829 petition by planters and merchants led the Bengal government to extend the same rights allowed to those engaged in coffee cultivation to indigo planters. The Court of Directors vetoed this measure. When this became known, another public meeting was held in Calcutta in December 1829 in support of a petition to parliament requesting removal of all restrictions on colonization. The petition also argued that the Company’s monopoly restricted trade with China and inflated the price of tea.4 The December 1829 meeting was a joint affair of Britons and Indians. Among the latter, Dwarkanath Tagore and Rammohun Roy were prominent. Tagore moved the resolution supporting the petition, stressing the economic benefits that would flow from an extension of indigo cultivation and a greater European presence. These included increased prosperity for ryots (peasants) and zamindars (landholders), as well as rising land values. Free settlement of Europeans would extend these benefits into other areas of agricultural and manufacturing production. Rammohun too spoke in favor of the petition. He concurred with Tagore regarding the economic impact of indigo planters, commenting on the improved material condition of Indians residing in areas of indigo cultivation. Rammohun also emphasized cultural benefits: “from personal experience I am impressed with the conviction that the greater our intercourse with European gentlemen, the greater will be our improvement in literary, social and political affairs.”5 Rammohun expressed similar sentiments in a private letter a month earlier.6 Two newspapers in which he was involved also supported European settlement and expanded indigo cultivation. The Samvada Kaumudi ran articles defending indigo planters from charges that their presence was disruptive socially and harmful economically.7 Free trade views prevailed in the short-lived Bengal Herald, founded in 1829 by a group that included Rammohun, Tagore, and Robert Montgomery Martin, who served as editor. In a June 13, 1829 editorial, Martin credited free trade and European settlement for rising land values and growing prosperity in Bengal, suggesting that greater freedom would follow as had happened in Europe. He called for unrestricted colonization and advocated ending the power of deportation as vital to further economic development.8 To readers of the Oriental Herald, the ideas found in these petitions, speeches, and editorials were familiar. From the start, Buckingham used his London monthly to press colonization as “the one thing needful” for India.9 Nearly every issue contained arguments similar to those voiced later in Calcutta regarding indigo planters and colonization. European settlement was presented by Buckingham as the panacea for nearly all that ailed India. Economic development, intellectual growth, imperial stability, and political progress were the inevitable consequences of colonization.10 Buckingham drew comparisons to the United States: the diffusion of “English capital, science, industry, and skill” would bind India to Britain “until the period may arrive for her separation and self-government, when she would part from us as a powerful friend, and be a second North America to us in language, principles of government, and paternal feeling.”11 Standing in the way of this happy future was the East India Company. Among many examples of that body’s misrule was its colonization policy. Thinking only of profits and power, the Company used its monopolistic powers to prevent European settlers from introducing new agricultural products such as tea and coffee. Advances in technology were also effectively kept out. The age of monopoly in knowledge was over in Britain, but lived on in the Company’s domains, with Indians deprived of what Europeans of learning and talent could bestow if allowed to settle freely.12



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Monopoly had negative consequences in Britain too. This side of the equation received great attention in the Oriental Herald, especially by the late 1820s, when renewal of the Company’s charter loomed. Buckingham ran many articles on the higher cost of tea in Britain resulting from monopoly, usually pointing out as well the Company’s inability to meet the growing demand for a necessity of life in the isles.13 He also addressed frequently the impact of the China monopoly on British manufacturers and shipping interests. Not only were these groups shut out of a profitable trade, but also the Company’s stranglehold prevented this trade from expanding to its fullest potential. Buckingham cited statistics from American trade with China to drive home this point and to warn of the possible loss of the China trade to their former colonies.14 Buckingham sent copies of his articles to provincial newspapers across Britain. In 1827 he claimed that one—“The East India Company’s Monopoly”—was reprinted in at least 150 journals. The public response in Liverpool was especially strong. The East India Association snapped out of its lethargy and established a committee to lead opposition to renewal of the China monopoly.15 That success induced the veteran journalist to reach out directly to provincial audiences. In 1829 Buckingham began a series of lectures that kept him away from London most of the year. His first stop was Liverpool, and by the autumn he had visited a host of cities, including Manchester, Birmingham, Bristol, Leeds, Whitby, Hull, Carlisle, Glasgow, and Edinburgh. These were so successful and time-consuming that Buckingham resorted to filling the Oriental Herald with accounts taken from provincial papers of his lectures and the public response to them. In December 1829 the Oriental Herald ceased publication and Buckingham concentrated on his lectures. Over the next two years, he returned to address audiences in many of the cities on his 1829 lecture tour, as well as new ones. By his own count, Buckingham lectured on free trade in over 100 British cities in the period leading up to the Company’s charter renewal.16 Buckingham took by storm most of the cities he visited on his first tour. He gave a series of lectures in each place, and for each lecture, enthusiastic audiences coughed up half a crown—and sat for up to four hours.17 The first lecture in each city addressed the history, geography, culture, and economic condition of the Middle East.18 Those hoping, as the Liverpool Mercury put it, that he would exhibit “the monster Monopoly in its proper colours” and excite “hatred and detestation against it” were not disappointed.19 In the concluding lecture, Buckingham detailed the consequences of restrictions on colonization in India and the China monopoly. He elaborated the impact of these on British commerce, drawing warm applause from large crowds described as the most respectable members of their communities. His lecture series often ended with a vote of thanks proposed by mayors or leading merchants.20 Buckingham stirred the public into action. At least twenty cities formed or—as in Liverpool—revived East India associations dedicated to ending the Company’s monopolies in India and China. Public meetings were called to endorse petitions to parliament. Sometimes the initial call was made by those thanking Buckingham at his final lecture; invariably the meetings took place shortly after his visit. Buckingham publicized these meetings in the Oriental Herald and pamphlets, proclaiming that he had roused the provinces into action.21 This assessment was shared by contemporaries. One Liverpudlian thanked Buckingham for commencing “this good work,” comparing him to David facing “the monster Goliah.” Another praised his “Herculean labours” in exciting resistance to the Company. The Sheffield Iris was another who gave Buckingham his due for awakening “the united energies of the whole British nation to



FREE TRADE AND A REFORMED PARLIAMENT


oppose the monopoly of trade in the East.” Facts bear this out. Petitions to parliament jumped more than sixfold from 1829 to 1830. The total for the two years was 257, nearly double the number submitted in 1812–1813.22 The Charter Act of 1833 created free trade with China and opened older parts of British India to unrestricted settlement. Buckingham’s crusade between 1829 and 1832 was undoubtedly instrumental.23 It also propelled the Cornwall native into parliament. Buckingham was elected to Commons for Sheffield, which was given two seats by the 1832 Reform Act. The first public suggestion that Buckingham should be in parliament came from Manchester at the time of his 1829 lectures there. “Shall the door be closed,” opined the Manchester Guardian, “against an energetic, talented, and highprincipled advocate of free trade?” Public enthusiasm for his lectures led other provincial newspapers to endorse the idea; Buckingham’s support for free trade and defense of British liberties were the reasons cited. The Sheffield Iris proposed a subscription to buy Buckingham a seat in the unreformed parliament. After 1832 such tactics were no longer needed and he was returned as one of the two new members from Sheffield, despite the Company’s efforts to prevent this.24 Itinerant lecturing also gave Buckingham fresh opportunity to applaud Rammohun Roy. Contemporary reports suggest that women comprised a significant portion of Buckingham’s audiences.25 As indicated earlier, the Oriental Herald had publicized Rammohun’s contribution to the campaign against sati. Buckingham continued doing so while on tour. In his concluding lectures in 1829 he cited the Company’s sati policy as further evidence of its unfitness to govern.26 While at Whitby, Buckingham also addressed the local auxiliary Bible society. He discussed sati, which rested on dubious authority, as proved by “one of the most learned of their Brahmins”—an obvious allusion to Rammohun. Here too Buckingham used toleration of the practice to stir his audience.27 He also published a belated address to the women of Northumberland, calling on them to rescue Indian women from sati and keep their menfolk focused on Indian affairs.28 Buckingham was stealing a chapter from James Peggs, whose campaign against widow burning was then peaking and who was persuading groups of women to petition parliament. The Oriental Herald gave publicity to these efforts, including reprinting one of Peggs’ pamphlets where Rammohun was cited.29 Buckingham, however, wanted to abolish not just sati, but the East India Company itself. Harnessing growing humanitarian outrage to the cause of colonization and free trade was his strategy. Rammohun took his public stance in favor of colonization at the public meeting in Calcutta on December 15, 1829. Word of this would have reached Britain several months later, about the time the metropolitan public learned that sati had been abolished by the Bengal authorities on December 4, 1829. Before these events became known in Britain, Buckingham had already decided to give greater emphasis to Rammohun in a new course of lectures. In published comments dated January 1, 1830, he indicated that his next tour would offer a choice among different sets of lectures. To help the public decide, he published a detailed outline of his lecture topics. One set of three lectures addressed “Evils of the East India Monopoly.” Two of the lectures in this set addressed free trade and colonization. Subtopics of the colonization lecture included the Company’s pretences for tolerating superstitions; examples of the successful abolition of human sacrifices in India; and “Life, Character, and Writings of the Bramin, Ram Mohun Roy.” Another subtopic was “Continually increasing Imitation of English Habits by wealthy Hindoos.” This could have included allusions to Rammohun’s recorded comments—once these



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were known—that increased contact with European settlers would pay intellectual and cultural dividends.30 One place where Buckingham’s efforts drew results was Liverpool. Buckingham worked closely with the Liverpool East India Association, which assumed a leadership role in the nationwide campaign against the Company. He returned to the port city frequently, lecturing there some sixty times over the years.31 One of his visits was in early 1831 to promote a scheme to outfit a ship to sail around the world on “a mission of ‘Temperance, Education, Benevolence, and Peace.’ ”32 This was shortly before Rammohun’s arrival on April 8, 1831. Local newspapers introduced the Bengali visitor to their readers using biographical material provided by Buckingham in this lecture. These accounts give the impression that this time Buckingham laid greater stress on Rammohun’s Unitarian writings than on anything else.33 This likely reflected the enormous enthusiasm that Liverpool and other Unitarians held for Rammohun, which Buckingham may have wished to tap. Other evidence suggests, however, that Buckingham had primed free traders for the Bengali’s arrival. The Liverpool East India Association sent a deputation to meet with Rammohun shortly after he disembarked. In that meeting, according to his travel companion, Rammohun “expressed himself very warmly in favor of Colonization and the abolishing of all the monopolies of the Company,” but distanced himself from the idea that the Company should cease governing India.34 The Liverpool East India Association arranged lodging for Rammohun in London, contacting John Crawfurd to book the hotel.35 Crawfurd was a prominent free trader, once described as “the India advocate or Liverpool against the [East India] company.”36 He may have met Rammohun while serving two stints with the Company spanning most of the period between 1803 and 1828. From 1811 onward Crawfurd was involved in diplomatic work and trade missions related to Southeast Asia. After retiring to Britain, he published popular accounts of his missions. These works were rife with free trade propaganda, particularly the notion that the agricultural, commercial, and mineral resources of Southeast Asia could be developed only by European—preferably British—settlement. An unpublished history manuscript developed this theme for India with emphasis on the negative role of the Company in hindering colonization.37 Crawfurd also became the London representative of the indigo planters of Bengal. He published pamphlets promoting colonization as essential for economic development in India, attacking the Company’s monopolies and restrictions on European settlement, and defending planters from charges of exploiting peasants and causing unrest.38 In 1828 Rammohun had written to Crawfurd, transmitting petitions to parliament regarding Indian juries that he wanted the latter to forward to both houses.39 (We will return to this shortly.) Upon arrival in London, Rammohun fell for a while into Crawfurd’s camp.40 The latter was probably one of those who, in June 1831, exchanged letters in the Times regarding Rammohun’s views on colonization and Company rule.41 In April 1833 Crawfurd hosted Rammohun at a dinner party with guests that included Albany Fonblanque, radical editor of the Examiner.42 The free trader may also have helped arrange for Rammohun to provide testimony to a Commons select committee collecting evidence relevant to renewing the Company’s charter. That testimony was presented in written form in the fall of 1831 and the following summer. In 1832 Rammohun published his 1831 testimony in a separate volume, adding a map of India and a brief historical sketch of India.43 In this testimony Rammohun suggested various reforms, including appointment of Indians to the higher ranks of judicial and revenue





administration, and limits on rent to protect peasants. He also reiterated his support for the jury system and colonization. On the latter score, Rammohun seconded the argument of Crawfurd and others that indigo planters demonstrated the advantages of allowing European settlers to introduce new agricultural practices.44 Important differences existed between Rammohun and Crawfurd. The latter preferred unrestricted immigration, while Rammohun thought that large-scale colonization would result in the expulsion of Indians. “Europeans of character and capital” were wanted in India, Rammohun wrote in his testimony to parliament, but not “the lower and uneducated classes” who were “often disposed to annoy the native inhabitants.”45 More generally, Crawfurd held harsh views of Asians and seldom wrote anything favorable about their civilizations, past or present. His manuscript history of India, for instance, drips with contempt for Hindu material culture and only grudgingly concedes anything good to that of Indian Muslims.46 Later a leading figure in the Ethnological Society, Crawfurd in 1866 ascribed what he saw as Asian inferiority and European superiority to separate racial origins. (Dadabhai Naoroji was shocked by this into publishing a rejoinder.)47 In the 1820s and 1830s, Crawfurd gave hints of his polygenism: free trade and colonization were required to unleash Asia’s economic potential because those already settled there were incapable of this.48 For his part, Rammohun viewed colonization—and more generally empire—as a partnership involving the transmission of new ideas and institutions to India. In his speeches and testimony, Rammohun invariably listed intellectual and cultural improvement as a key benefit of colonization.49 Crawfurd and Rammohun were thus ambiguous allies, supporting European settlement for largely incompatible reasons. This explains why Rammohun gravitated to other free traders in London. One of these was Sir Alexander Johnston,50 who, as noted, had opened Ceylon to European settlement. Johnston served in that island for most of the period between 1802 and 1819, making a name for himself as a reforming chief justice and administrator. Besides promoting colonization, Johnston introduced into Ceylon the jury system (with nonEuropeans serving as jurors); abolished slavery; and ended official discrimination against Roman Catholics. In 1806 Johnston provided Charles James Fox with detailed plans for reform in India based on his efforts in Ceylon. The latter he thought a testing ground for transplanting liberal institutions into the subcontinent. He also advised other politicians on South Asian affairs and provided important testimony to parliament. Alongside the reforms he had introduced into Ceylon, Johnston recommended creating a uniform legal code for India, appointing Indian judges, opening up all government positions to Indians, and creating legislative councils on which “the most distinguished natives of [India] ought to be admitted as members.” Underlying these proposals was Johnston’s conviction that “the natives are just as competent as Europeans can be to legislate for their own wants and their own country.” He also thought it good politics to proceed on this assumption: “the surest way of retaining Ceylon and the rest of our Indian possessions [is] to admit the natives of the country to a share in the government of the country, and to allow them to administer justice to their countrymen.”51 A crucial first step in Johnston’s eyes was trial by jury. This would prepare Indians for “those free political institutions” that the British would eventually establish on the subcontinent. Participating as jurors would stimulate the intellectual and moral sensibilities; encourage awareness of public affairs and confidence to participate in them; and create a sense of social responsibility. Above all, it would afford Indians “a public opportunity of displaying their knowledge, their patriotism, and their talents upon subjects of the



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greatest interest.” Enhanced loyalty to British rule was another dividend, as participation in the jury system persuaded Indians that their government treated them with “respect and confidence.”52 Johnston also thought jury trials necessary for colonization. This was a favorite idea of free traders. As Crawfurd argued, Britons would not invest or settle in India if exposed to arbitrary deportations, and trial by jury was security against this.53 Personal experience led Buckingham to agree. He also thought jury trials for libel the only legitimate restraint on a free press. In addition, trial by jury was vital to curbing judicial and political abuses; along with liberty of the press, it was one of the pillars of the British constitution to which Indians were entitled. Buckingham connected the jury system to Indian tradition, arguing that panchayats (councils of village elders) were an indigenous form of juries that should be revived. This idea had long before been endorsed by the Company as an efficient and popular means of rendering justice. As usual, the Oriental Herald blamed the Company for undermining this valuable institution. Buckingham was also interested in the political role that panchayats would fill by serving as a security against misrule. There was one additional benefit in Buckingham’s eyes. Trial before one’s peers would protect Indians from facing all-white juries prejudiced against the “despised ‘black fellow.’ ”54 The success of Johnston’s measures in Ceylon reverberated in British India. Trial by jury existed in British courts in India since 1726, with all British subjects eligible to serve as jurors. By convention, Indians and Eurasians were excluded from the definition of a British subject. The latter group began petitioning the authorities in 1816 for the right to sit on juries, and by 1825 Joseph Hume and Buckingham were publicizing their demands in Britain. That year Charles Williams Wynn, president of the Board of Control, consulted Johnston on the matter. In 1826 Williams Wynn introduced a bill extending membership on grand and petit juries to all residents of Calcutta, Bombay, and Madras, excepting subjects of foreign states. There was one other exception: only Christians could serve as jurors on grand juries and at trials of Christians. In Commons, Williams Wynn and Hume cited the success of the system in Ceylon as a reason to make the change. The bill became law in May 1826.55 Rammohun was interested in the matter early on. In 1821 the Samvada Kaumudi published an article anticipating his arguments in the memorial and petition against the 1823 press regulations. The Kaumudi article praised the British for bestowing the boons of trial by jury and liberty of the press on the people of India. The justice system under “unjust and despotic” Muslim rule was held up for contrast, and God thanked for placing Bengalis under “the mild and equitable sway” of the British. The article ended with a reference to the reforms in Ceylon and the hope that Governor-General Hastings would extend to Indians the same privilege of serving as jurors. Buckingham printed a translation of the article in the Calcutta Journal.56 Later, he used the Oriental Herald to publicize another Kaumudi article on the subject. This article criticized Williams Wynn’s jury act for discriminating against non-Christians. Buckingham reprinted it along with comments by William Adam, now editor of the Bengal Chronicle, that Bengalis resented the act “as insulting and degrading—as contrary to the spirit of English law, and to the principles of abstract justice.”57 Adam alluded to a petition that was in the works. This was signed in November 1826 by 220 Hindus and Muslim, as well as one Parsi. It was sent the following month, probably by Rammohun, to “the proper authorities in England.”58 In August 1828 Rammohun also transmitted two petitions on the jury act—one each for the Lords





and Commons—to Crawfurd.59 These may have contained more signatories, since the following year Williams Wynn referred in Commons to 234 names on the petition. No matter the exact count, the petition was extraordinary. It brought together nearly equal numbers of Hindus and Muslims and made temporary allies of Rammohun’s group and their orthodox foes.60 The petition is usually ascribed to Rammohun. He remarked years later to an unknown correspondent about the time when “we were preparing the petition to Parliament.”61 A passage expressing joy at finally being “deemed worthy” to participate in administering the law evokes Rammohun’s sentiments regarding the boons of British liberties. The same is true of a passage pointing out that under Muslim rule Hindus were not shut out of high office as they are under the Company. But other voices are also apparent. The petition inveighs against the “odious” distinction introduced between Christians and non-Christians, and “the stamp of inferiority” placed on the latter. It also suggests that the 1826 act creates secular motives for conversion to Christianity and protests the elevated social status given to Eurasians, many of whom were Christians. Most Indians were thus hostile to this “degrading” measure.62 Whatever his role in drafting the petition, Rammohun was instrumental in getting the law changed. It seems he twice forwarded the document to Britain, the second time through Crawfurd. His covering letter to the latter was strongly worded. Rammohun suggested that one day Indians would be advanced enough to resist such unpopular measures, and he added a warning that India was not like Ireland, where the British could quickly transport troops to suppress “a refactory spirit.”63 Williams Wynn introduced the petition in Commons with favorable comments in June 1829. After arriving in London, Rammohun worked closely with Charles Grant—president of the Board of Control in the Whig ministry—when the jury act was amended in 1832. Grant asked Rammohun to comment on the Court of Directors’ objections to proposed amendments, and he incorporated several of Rammohun’s remarks in his reply to the directors. To the directors’ argument, for instance, that Indian jurors would lower European status in the country, Grant used Rammohun’s point that Europeans were already subject to the authority of Indians employed to arrest, confine, and punish offenders. Girded with such arguments, Grant and the Whigs eliminated the discriminatory provisions of Williams Wynn’s 1826 act. For his part, Rammohun lobbied for Grant’s bill, writing an “eloquent and forcible remonstrance” to Lord Ellenborough, for one.64 This was not the only instance where Rammohun’s views mattered at the Board of Control. As noted, he was asked to provide written testimony to the select committee investigating the affairs of the East India Company. On the issue of colonization, Rammohun supported settlement by respectable individuals with capital to invest, but not wholesale immigration by lower-class Britons. Among the materials collected by the select committee was an undated document drafted by “a person in the temporary employ of the Board of Control.” The lengthy document surveyed the arguments for and against European settlement, citing numerous sources. One of these was Rammohun, who was described as “an illustrious native . . . at present in England” and as “an authority of great weight in such matters.” The anonymous author noted Rammohun’s point about the intellectual and cultural benefits of colonization, as well as his conflicting testimony about its impact on the peasantry. The author’s conclusions were in line with Rammohun’s views—settlement by respectable Europeans was desirable for both economic and cultural reasons—although the Bengali was not cited in the concluding section, while other authorities were.65



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Others drew Rammohun into the public debate about India. By the time he arrived in Liverpool, the campaign of Buckingham and the East India associations had won the day on trade to China. On entering office in November 1830, Grant indicated to the Company’s directors that the Whig ministry would abolish the China monopoly. He also intimated that the Company might lose its responsibilities as government of India.66 This shifted the focus to the fate of the Company. Rammohun was asked his opinion on this four days after setting foot on English soil. According to a published report, he told a deputation of the Liverpool East India Association that “he was not hostile to the Company” and that he preferred it to corrupt colonial governments and the abuses of patronage that existed elsewhere. Provided that needed reforms were introduced, including “the free settlement of Englishmen, and the abandonment of their monopolies and commerce,” Rammohun was not against renewal of the charter.67 This was prescient: the Whigs ultimately decided to leave the Company as the government of India to avoid a difficult debate about patronage.68 Until that decision was reached, a war of words regarding the future government of India raged in Britain. Rammohun’s name featured prominently in this debate. This was another version of the celebrity endorsement strategy perfected by Unitarians, as both supporters and opponents of the Company sought to employ his renown to advance their positions. A change of sides on the matter by one of his former partners in Calcutta journalism illuminates how important Rammohun’s opinions were to this debate. An exchange published in the Times soon after Rammohun arrived in London is exemplary. Citing his fame as a renouncer of idolatry and Unitarian convert, a “wellinformed Oriental Correspondent” offered Rammohun as a “harbinger” of what enlightened policies could accomplish in India. The Bengali, this writer added, was “no friend to colonization.” Rammohun opposed unlimited immigration and endorsed settlement under “proper restrictions” only for “men of capital and substance.” Moreover, Rammohun was “decidedly in favour of the present system of government as administered through the East India Company, and is not backward in acknowledging the benefits which India has derived under it.” This prompted a rebuke. “A Friend of the Rajah’s”—Crawfurd is a likely suspect—noted that Rammohun’s public stature meant that his opinions were of “the highest importance to the great question of the future government of our vast possessions in the East.” The famed Bengali’s support for retaining the Company’s political function, the friend continued, stemmed from concerns about increasing ministerial patronage, and on this point Rammohun’s views were inconsequential, because his political experience was confined to India. As for acknowledging benefits of Company rule, this amounted to little more than saying that the Company’s government was better than that of their “barbarian” Mughal predecessors. This was not the same as claiming that Company rule “is worthy of the British nation” or that it ought to be continued without major reforms. As regards colonization, Rammohun favored the only kind that anyone had advocated, namely, unrestricted settlement of reputable Britons possessing capital and skills.69 Rammohun was unhappy about this public use of his name. The same day the letter signed by “A Friend of the Rajah’s” appeared, he wrote to the Times asking that it no longer publish letters purporting to represent his views on the India question. As soon as his health permitted, he would publish a statement on this. Meanwhile, the more pressing concern for all was passage of a reform bill.70 If he thought that this would stop what was happening, Rammohun was mistaken. Exploitation of his fame continued.





The East India Company was one of those in the game. James Sutherland noted how the Company’s directors “eagerly paid their court to him” in London, trying to persuade Rammohun of their desire to improve India. Old India hands also lavished “sycophant adulation” on him.71 An example of this fawning was taking Rammohun along on an official visit to examine students at Haileybury.72 The Company’s solicitude was on greatest display at a July 1831 dinner given in Rammohun’s honor. This received extensive coverage in the press, much of it devoted to the rice and water that formed the entirety of Rammohun’s meal.73 The short speech he gave also drew attention. According to a report published in the Morning Chronicle, the guest of honor credited the Company with bringing an end to a period in Indian history in which “nothing was to be seen but plunder and devastation.” He expressed gratitude for various governors-general, particularly William Bentinck, who sought “to gain the good opinion of the natives of India, and to raise them in the scale of nations.” Rammohun concluded by stating that he felt proud and grateful at what India was experiencing, and he trusted that so long as she should remain among the nations of the earth, she should be ruled by a Government equally popular, and distinguished by similar acts of kindness, conciliation, and humanity.

Someone present at the dinner objected to this report and wrote a letter of correction. According to “One of the Party,” not only did that report omit mention of Rammohun’s request to toast the Whig ministry, but also it gave a “colouring and exaggeration” to his speech, suggesting that he approved “without qualification” of the existing government of India. This was not true. Rammohun merely said that there is greater security of life and property under the British than under previous Muslim rulers, that there was now peace and security against foreign threats, and thus an opportunity existed to address “all subjects of eternal [sic: internal?] policy and improvement.” Rammohun did not indicate “how far the opportunity had been embraced, nor was it necessary for him then to notice what had been done or left undone, or disturb the harmony of the party by the introduction of debatable matter, more suitable to other occasions.” In a word, Rammohun was simply being polite.74 There are other instances of the Company employing Rammohun as a celebrity witness. They took advantage of a job-seeker undergoing a fundamental change of views regarding free trade and the empire. This financially strapped journalist had two distinct advantages: deep familiarity with the ideas and strategies of the Company’s fiercest critics (because he had once been one); and personal intimacy with Rammohun, his former partner and employer in Calcutta. When Robert Montgomery Martin sought employment in 1832, the Company agreed to subsidize works he wrote defending their monopoly of the tea trade. Thus encouraged and still hoping for a position, Martin wrote that same year a long book defending the Company’s administration of India.75 In this last work, Martin reversed not only his own opinions, but what he claimed to be Rammohun’s too. Before addressing this change, it is useful to consider the views of Robert Rickards, whose ideas Martin once shared. Rickards was a longtime critic of the Company. He lived for twenty-three years in India, serving on the Company’s Bombay council before returning to Britain in 1811. He entered parliament around the time of the 1813 Charter Renewal Act and joined those successfully calling for free trade to India. In 1814 he published two of his speeches on the subject along with material detailing the failings



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and abuses of the Company. After leaving parliament, Rickards headed a London agency house. In 1828 he began publishing a serialized study that was compiled into a two-volume work titled India in 1829 and 1832.76 A central theme in India is despotism. Rickards attributed most of India’s problems to the influence of arbitrary power. This included the supposed moral and intellectual failings of the population; as in Greece, cultural degeneracy resulted from bad political institutions. Rickards rejected the notion that this degeneracy was innate—or inbred due to the caste system—thus rendering despotic government necessary. The Company’s mistake was applying the cause of the disease as a cure. Rickards argued that Indians were as capable of improvement as any people on the earth. Liberal institutions were the antidote to centuries of Muslim oppression and would work the same effects in India as they had in Europe. There was nothing in the Hindu character that “the diffusion of knowledge, and liberal institutions, would [not] speedily dispel.” Trial by jury had not been recently bestowed on Britain, but had long preceded its rise to global eminence. Also helpful would be low levels of taxation so that property could accumulate, which would stimulate commercial activity and cultural development. European superiority stemmed primarily from intellectual advances made possible, above all else, by the printing press. In Rickards’ assessment, the Company stood condemned for hindering intellectual progress, for continuing the extortion of Muslim rulers, and for obstructing the introduction of free institutions into India.77 Exhibit A in Rickards’ argument was Rammohun Roy. One had to look no further for proof of the general idea that Indians are “capable of all the qualities that can adorn the human mind.” All that was needed was to provide India with the same advantages as Europe. Until very recently, for instance, Indians had been denied the intellectual benefits of the printing press. That powerful engine of progress was now firmly established in the subcontinent and the results were already apparent. Ecce signum: The writings of that extraordinary man, Ram Mohun Roy, are too well known to require encomium from me. His celebrated petition to the king on behalf of a free press for India; his “Precepts of Jesus;” his “Appeals to the Christian Public;” his “Defence of Hindoo Theism;” “Translations of the Upanishads,” and various other tracts, are works that will immortalize the name of Ram Mohun; and leave future generations to wonder, that English writings of so much beauty and excellence should be the production, not of a natural-born Briton, but of an enlightened, self-taught Indian Brahmin.78

There were other Indians whose intellectual and cultural attainments also demonstrated that the cure for centuries of oppression was at work. As proof, Rickards printed some of their letters and writings in an appendix. Three of these items were 1827 letters from Rammohun to unidentified correspondents. The letters indicate support for Canning as well as abhorrence of despotism and religious bigotry, particularly regarding Roman Catholic emancipation, which Rammohun supported.79 Rickards thus joined the likes of Crawfurd and Buckingham in linking Rammohun’s name to plans for reforming British India. Their success at this can be measured by a satirical piece published in the Asiatic Journal, the Company’s unofficial organ. Titled “Plans for the Government of India,” the anonymous piece ridiculed the free traders and their provincial supporters, particularly women. It poked fun at a Buckinghamlike lecturer playing on ignorant audiences and proposing absurd plans for India, such





as opening up to Indians all government positions. This would create “such a rush of applicants” that Indian manufactures would be abandoned, and “we should then be able to pour in ours by ship-loads.” Among the lecturer’s wild-eyed proposals was appointing Rammohun Roy as governor-general of India and filling all judicial posts with Muslims, revenue ones with Hindus, and the police with Eurasians. “The beauty of this plan,” the stand-in for Buckingham argued, is that “the raja is neither a Hindoo, a Mahomedan, nor a Christian,” and thus “can have no bias towards any part of the population of India,” while mutual antagonisms would keep the other groups in check.80 Most of the ideas lampooned here were shared by Robert Montgomery Martin in the period 1829–1832. Martin settled in Calcutta in 1828 and entered Rammohun’s circle the following January. In May 1829 the Bengal Herald began publication, with Martin its editor and a proprietor, along with Rammohun, Dwarkanath Tagore, and others. During its four-month existence, the Herald supported many of Rammohun’s causes, including free trade, European settlement, liberty of the press, and suppression of sati. A libel suit and threat of deportation for Martin ended the Herald in September 1829. Martin then entered Rammohun’s employ to assist with the latter’s planned embassy to Britain on behalf of Akbar II of Delhi. He also became Rammohun’s bodyguard and lived in the latter’s house when orthodox anger against the abolition of sati erupted in January 1830. This relationship soon deteriorated. Martin thought Rammohun had used bribery to obtain documents relating to Akbar’s case against the Company. He wrote a memorandum to the Bengal authorities on the matter and this was leaked to the Tory press. Martin himself was discredited by the affair, and left Calcutta in April 1830.81 Estranged from Rammohun, Martin apparently never met the famous Bengali again. He sought, however, to make amends upon returning to the British Isles. Martin quickly published a pamphlet critical of the Company, rehashing free trade arguments and suggesting that it was time for direct parliamentary control of British India. As proof of maladministration, he printed one of the documents pertaining to Akbar’s claims against the Company that Rammohun had him bring to Britain. He also reprinted the letter his first wife—Francis Keith Martin—had written to the Bengal Hurkaru criticizing the Company for its long toleration of sati. In her letter, Francis Martin credited abolition to an eighteen-year campaign by Rammohun, whom she described as a Hindu philanthropist, philosopher, and patriot.82 Robert Martin also resumed his journalism career back in Britain. He became editor of several journals, including Alexander’s East India Magazine, founded in late 1830 to fill the gap caused by the demise of the Oriental Herald. The journal was free trade and anti-Company, and Martin its first editor until mid-1832.83 During the period of Martin’s editorship, Alexander’s promoted Rammohun’s causes, including his embassy on behalf of Akbar. The first issue of Alexander’s contained three articles by Robert and Frances Martin that mentioned or alluded to Rammohun. In her piece on William Bentinck, Frances reiterated the praise in her Hurkaru letter for “the great Hindoo philosopher and patriot, Rammohun Roy,” referring to him as an “apostle of this holy cause”—abolition of sati. One of Robert’s contributions was a brief article titled “Hindoo Theism.” This mentioned the founding of the Brahmo Samaj and printed part of its trust deed. Martin also noted that he was present at the opening of the Brahmo’s chapel in 1830. This notice was followed by an article critical of the Jagannath festival. (When he reprinted these materials in his History of the British Colonies, Martin explicitly contrasted the Brahmo Samaj and Jagannath temples and reproduced all of the trust deed, adding



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that he was the only European present at the temple opening.) In the third Alexander’s essay, Robert Martin surveyed the state of the press in India, employing the favorite metaphor of Stanhope and Buckingham that the press was a “mighty engine” undermining “the tyrannical dynasties of ages.” This article named key newspapers and their editors or proprietors. One of these was the Bengal Herald. Martin discreetly avoided his own name, but listed Rammohun, Dwarkanath Tagore, and Prasanna Kumar Tagore as the “distinguished individuals” who helped him establish the Herald. In an obvious allusion to Buckingham, Martin indicated that he resigned when threatened with deportation.84 Rammohun cropped up in other early issues of Alexander’s. Following Buckingham’s lead, there were translations from Samvada Kaumudi, in this case articles critical of the Jagannath festival. Martin also reprinted an account of the December 1829 public meeting in Calcutta where Dwarkanath and Rammohun had spoken in favor colonization. Notably, he used their speeches to rebut the Company’s claim that unrestricted settlement would provoke unrest. Alexander’s also printed the petition approved at that meeting and an article from Samvada Kaumudi—“the most talented and best-conducted Bengalee newspaper”—supporting colonization for its economic benefits.85 Upon Rammohun’s arrival in Britain, Martin reproduced in Alexander’s the image of the famous Bengali that the Unitarians had been circulating (see figure 3.1). The lithograph accompanied a long laudatory essay by Martin. This contained a document relating to Akbar’s claims against the Company; lambasted Bentinck’s administration for obstructing Rammohun’s attempt to obtain documents; and called on the British public to support Rammohun’s efforts to obtain “a redress for grievous injustice” suffered by Akbar. Martin recited familiar reasons for Rammohun’s celebrity, including the defense of Unitarianism and campaign against sati. He also recounted lesser known works, including the Tuhfat al-Muwahhidin and Rammohun’s Bengali grammar. Martin referred again to the founding of the Brahmo Samaj, which he linked to Rammohun and described as “a sect denominated Theophilanthropists.” Summing up Rammohun’s many contributions, Martin joined his wife in using the term “patriotism” or “the alleviation of the woes which oppress, impoverish, and have broken the spirit of his people.” The British people, he argued, should “come forward to support this great man.”86 In succeeding years, there would be more favorable mention of Rammohun in the pages of Alexander’s. Usually this occurred in the context of promoting colonization and free trade, which the magazine continued to support unreservedly. Some of these comments appeared while Martin was still editor; others, after he had left. None, apparently, was authored by Martin.87 The reason for this is simple. During the course of 1832, Martin had a change of heart about free trade, India, and the empire that would transform him into a pioneering advocate of the Greater Britain idea. In the process he reached out to the East India Company for patronage and repackaged Rammohun Roy to fit his new agenda. This was not Martin’s only public about-face. Upon returning from India, Martin actively supported Daniel O’Connell and edited a Repeal periodical in London. In early 1833 he reinvented himself with an anti-Repeal pamphlet and thereafter wrote works defending the Union. Although it is tempting to blame this on Frances Martin’s 1831 elopement with a Repeal activist, the fact is that Martin made several such radical changes.88 Frank King attributes this to several factors. In a precarious financial situation throughout the 1830s, Martin sought patronage wherever he could, including





the Company and the British authorities in Ireland. A kind of Tory radicalism also pervaded Martin’s writings, and whenever reform appeared to threaten the foundations of the establishment, he sided with the status quo. Above all, Martin discovered his voice as the champion of British colonies that he believed neglected and underappreciated. He assigned himself what became a lifelong task of awakening Britons to the importance of an empire on which the sun never set. Martin borrowed that phrase from a Spanish saying, but there is no mistaking the originality of his contribution to Victorian imperialist thinking. Beginning in the 1830s Martin began publishing a long series of works about the empire—including the pioneering History of the British Colonies (1834–1835)—that introduced ideas later associated with the Greater Britain movement, imperial federation, and social imperialism.89 This personal mission provides context for Martin’s pro-Company publications in 1832. Some of these appeared anonymously, others had his name on the title page. Several address the China trade and were subsidized by the Court of Directors. Although interesting for challenging the “delusive theory” of free trade and “speculative opinions” of Rickards and Crawfurd, as well as for hints of his later glorification of Britain’s empire, these works need not concern us here.90 It is in his defense of the Company for founding and maintaining a vast empire in India where Martin employed Rammohun Roy’s name to support new convictions. The Political, Commercial, & Financial Condition of the Anglo-Eastern Empire, in 1832 continues the attack on free trade and makes transparent Martin’s new concern for preserving the empire. Some passages evoked ideas expressed earlier in Alexander’s, or that would appear later in History of the British Colonies. One example is the notion that retaining the Company as the government of India was preferable to allowing parliament to mismanage Indian affairs as it had in Ireland and other colonial possessions. Martin’s praise for the Court of Proprietors as a democratic body in advance of British institutions is another instance of his interest in highlighting potential imperial contributions. The same is true of his argument that duties needed to be lowered on Indian imports into Britain so that the subcontinent could become a valuable trading partner. The idea that free trade without reciprocity would only worsen the alarming drain of funds from India to Britain exemplifies Martin’s fears of colonial mismanagement.91 As with Martin’s writings on Ireland, Anglo-Eastern Empire is a public confession of new views on burning issues of the day. The man who gave up editing the Bengal Herald when faced with the “ignominious” possibility of transportation now merely pointed out that this was a necessary restraint on Europeans who might threaten the social order. To the argument of free traders—including himself when editor of the Bengal Herald— that the power of deportation had to end if economic development were to take place, Martin in 1832 noted that the Company was chary of using that power, had employed it but twice in the past fifteen years, and had done so only in the cases of Buckingham and Sandford Arnot, two “political writers” whose “ ‘breath is agitation.’ ”92 The editor who proclaimed in 1830 that it was “untenable, and even impious” to consider restrictions on liberty of the press, now stressed that the Company had no wish to check the press and, indeed, had imposed less restraints than the home authorities, who, after all, had imprisoned Richard Carlile for libel.93 A ten-page list of public works projects undertaken by the Company since 1812, accompanied by another ten pages of testimonials to improved economic conditions, now flowed from Martin’s pen. Missing were the criticism of the Company’s lack of investment in charitable institutions and the pleas for free trade and colonization to develop untapped economic resources.94



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These new views required alterations in the strategy of exploiting Rammohun’s fame. Martin had published in Alexander’s his wife’s description of Rammohun as an apostle in a holy crusade against sati. A later issue contained his own comments on the privy council hearing of the petition by conservative Hindus seeking to make widow burning legal again. There Martin disowned the English lawyer representing the appellants as a “monster . . . not . . . of our species, who now appears before the highest tribunal of this empire, in behalf of a few bigoted, blood-thirsty priests in Bengal.” In Anglo-Eastern Empire, however, Martin urged caution in moving against Hindu practices, pointing to powerful opposition to abolition of sati as a warning to reformers and a reminder of the Company’s careful handling of the matter. There was no mention of Rammohun’s name or his eighteen-year crusade. Instead, Martin rehashed old arguments about not endangering British rule with rash humanitarian acts. Keeping the empire together, he now argued, required tempering “prudence with benevolence, policy with principle, and justice with expediency.”95 The famous Bengali, it seems, had nothing relevant to say about this. Martin took a different tack with Rammohun’s public statements on colonization. We have seen how he used the December 1829 speeches of Rammohun and Dwarkanath Tagore to challenge the Company’s claim that unrestricted settlement would lead to turmoil. While editing Alexander’s Martin also ran an article that cited the “disinterested and accurate testimony of Rajah Rammohun Roy” that indigo planters had “done more good” than any other Europeans in India.96 The author of Anglo-Eastern Empire saw things differently. Rammohun and Tagore were brought in as expert witnesses on the negative impact of colonization. Regarding the latter, Martin reprinted from the Bengal Herald a letter critical of indigo planters that he claimed was written by Tagore. Tagore’s public speech about the positive economic impact of European settlement went unmentioned.97 Martin also reprinted a petition to parliament from Bengali zamindars pleading for restrictions on colonization to prevent serious unrest. This was used to substantiate the claim that European colonization inevitably led either to “annihilation of the dark, by the fair races of men, or a degradation of the latter into an inferior order of beings.” The Company’s restrictions on settlement had saved India from these fates.98 Rammohun’s written testimony to the select committee, Martin added, confirmed “the sound and humane policy of the Company.” Martin cited here the part where Rammohun wrote that unrestricted settlement “could only be regarded as adopted for the purpose of entirely supplanting the native inhabitants, and expelling them from the country.” Martin employed this passage twice, noting that Rammohun was not one to “stoop to flatter the Company.” What he omitted, however, was the passage immediately preceding this one, where Rammohun reiterated his support for allowing “Europeans of character and capital” to settle in Bengal because this would “greatly improve the resources of the country, and also the condition of the native inhabitants.” Martin also neglected here Rammohun’s public comments—comments that Martin himself had reprinted in Alexander’s—“that the greater our intercourse with European gentlemen, the greater will be our improvement in literary, social and political affairs.” The reason for the omission is clear. Martin’s new objective was to suggest that the famous Bengali feared the kind of race war that the Company had prevented by careful restrictions on settlement. Rammohun Roy is well acquainted with the truth of the allegation, that the character, manners, language, customs, religion, modes of thinking, prejudices, & c. are so




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This distortion of Rammohun’s views recalls an earlier effort by Sandford Arnot. Arnot’s journey from Calcutta journalist to literary blackmailer, as we have seen, included a stint as hack writer for the Court of Directors. In 1829 Arnot published a tract depicting James Silk Buckingham as an adventurer engaged in shady financial transactions. He also charged his former employer with setting back the cause of press freedom in India by offending those who otherwise were inclined to support it in some measure. Buckingham’s successful lecturing involved titillating unknowing audiences with exaggerated tales of Indians and distortions of the Company’s record.100 Buckingham hit back hard. He took credit for launching Arnot’s career in journalism, which Arnot repaid with this vicious pamphlet. The latter’s change of heart, Buckingham suggested, was occasioned primarily by £1500 of Company money. He situated Arnot’s pamphlet in a larger plot by the Company to scuttle his candidacy for parliament. Circulating in Sheffield were other slanderous pamphlets by disreputable printers and journalists, all of which could be traced back to Leadenhall Street. Buckingham’s biographer agrees. The Court of Directors compensated Arnot for his pamphlet, which appeared in a second edition the following year. The directors also distributed it in Sheffield in a vain effort to influence voters.101 Buckingham did not address Arnot’s recourse to quoting Rammohun out of context. This involved a passage from the petition to the privy council suggesting that the king-in-council could not possibly support Adam’s regulations as this would indicate that “it is British justice to punish millions for the fault imputed to one individual.” This came at the end of a paragraph arguing that, even if banishing Buckingham was justified, it would be unfair to deprive India of a free press. Citing repeatedly this one passage, Arnot attempted to make it appear that Rammohun endorsed his claim that Buckingham always managed to bring “evil to the cause he professed to advocate.”102 The rest of the petition, and Rammohun’s decision to close down his Persian-language paper, were passed over in silence. Arnot knew full well what use reformers were making of these. What is most striking about these parallel cases is that Arnot and Martin felt compelled to misrepresent Rammohun’s opinions. Martin’s case is particularly interesting. Once he had stood arm in arm with reformers, exploiting Rammohun’s celebrity status to promote change for India. Now the advocate of a new imperialism, Martin highlighted Rammohun’s contribution to the sober pragmatism he believed necessary to keep India British. Rammohun was no longer a crusading humanitarian, but a voice warning of dangers to the empire. This new portrait was in keeping with Martin’s hope for a position at India House. The brahman intellectual whom Rickards held up as proof of what India might be was transformed into the Company supporter that Martin had become. Martin’s efforts to make use of Rammohun’s celebrity are unusual only because contradictory claims were made by the same person. The articles and letters published in the Morning Chronicle and Times, as well as the deputation of the Liverpool East India Association, attest to the importance of the Bengali’s views to opposing sides in the debate about the future government of India. Rammohun contributed to this contest



essentially different, as to present an insuperable barrier, at least for ages, to the European and the Hindoo being united by the associations and connexions of domestic life, or by national interest or feeling, and that a fearful collision must inevitably be the result [of colonization].99

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for his endorsement by giving ambiguous, even conflicting, indications of his opinions. A good example is the difference between his Calcutta speech and his written testimony on colonization; the former seemed to set no limits on settlement, while the latter restricted this to individuals of “character and capital” only. Such shifts gave radical supporters grief. The Bengal Hurkaru was indignant at what it saw as “utter trimming” in Rammohun’s testimony to the select committee. “[B]eset with the prejudices of courtesy,” Rammohun softened his criticism of the Company in London, seemed unwilling to avow the radical principles he had espoused in Bengal, and engaged in “wilful concealments.”103 Something similar happened with regard to Rammohun’s theological views, as is discussed in appendix A. Buckingham gave bitter testimony to the related phenomena in an obituary of his old friend. It would have been better if Rammohun “had never visited England.” His reputation would then have not been tarnished by the “want of moral courage” revealed in giving a “lavish eulogium” to the Court of Directors at a public dinner or testifying before parliament against the views he had expressed in Calcutta. If he had stayed in India, Rammohun’s zeal for monotheism would also not have been lost amidst the impressions created in Britain that he shared the theological opinions of everyone he met. The “flatteries” bestowed on him at too many social gatherings, Buckingham wrote, “were the poison that corroded the brighter jewel” of Rammohun’s mind.104 If radical friends were disappointed, what impact did Rammohun have on the resolution of the India question while he was in Britain? This is difficult to assess. There were many influential voices arguing that more colonization by individuals of means would benefit India; that Indians ought to be given a greater role in the judicial and civil administration of their country; and that the Company, stripped of its commercial activities, ought to continue governing the subcontinent and controlling patronage. Alexander Johnston and Thomas Macaulay are only two of those who helped turn these ideas into political reality.105 We can, however, trace a clear line of influence on jury reform. Charles Grant consulted Rammohun and employed his arguments to make an important change.106 In regard to colonization, an unidentified figure at the Board of Control also gave weight to Rammohun’s written testimony and broadly agreed with the latter in recommending settlement only by “capitalists and men of education.”107 At the very least, we can say that Rammohun had access to the cabinet office responsible for Indian affairs. Rammohun’s close relationship with Grant, Brougham, and other Whig leaders was widely known in Britain and India.108 In Calcutta, this access to cabinet ministers stirred political imaginations. In early 1833 Prasanna Kumar Tagore wrote a column describing Rammohun as India’s unofficial member of parliament. Tagore was responding to letters and papers that Rammohun sent back to Bengal regarding Grant’s amendments to the jury act, the Company’s opposition to it, and his own role in the process.109 Tagore’s comment appeared in the Reformer, a Calcutta weekly established in 1831 by him and other members of the Tagore family, including Dwarkanath. The two cousins were supporters of Rammohun, and they had cooperated previously with the Bengal Herald.110 The editor of the Herald, R. M. Martin, came to advocate colonial representation in the imperial parliament. He claimed to be the first to propose the idea during the parliamentary reform debates of 1831. Martin’s suggestion was vented in Alexander’s and, after his departure, that magazine continued to promote the idea.111 Joseph Hume also brought the issue before Commons in August 1831 with an amendment calling for creating nineteen colonial seats in the reform bill then under discussion. One of





these would represent the European and Indian inhabitants of Calcutta. Although several members spoke in favor of Hume’s motion, it was defeated.112 This is likely what Prasanna Kumar Tagore meant when he wrote in 1833 that the “question of colonial representation has been sufficiently examined” to lead thinking individuals to agree that it was a good idea. Although Rammohun did not sit in Commons, Tagore noted, he was the next best thing.113 This suggestion provides an interesting footnote to the history of the imperial federation movement. Martin was an early advocate of the idea of a Greater Britain, and he promoted a new kind of imperialism, one that took pride in the fact that “on this wondrous Empire the solar orb never sets.” He made it his life’s mission to awaken attention at home to the importance of the colonies. At key moments he proposed that colonial representation in Westminster was needed to keep the empire intact.114 There is no evidence that in 1831 or 1832 Martin considered Rammohun Roy as a possible MP. The thought, however, crossed the mind of Prasanna Kumar Tagore. It also occurred to some in Britain. As we shall see in a later chapter, Joseph Hume may have been one of those urging Rammohun to stand for parliament, an idea given additional significance by Jeremy Bentham. Here it is sufficient to note that the question of India propelled James Silk Buckingham into parliament and led some to imagine a Bengali brahman joining him there.



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Provincializing England

Rammohun Roy had many reasons for coming to Britain. Some of these have already been discussed. Keeping sati illegal, securing greater Indian participation in judicial administration, and promoting more settlement by the right kind of Europeans were part of a reform agenda he shared with overlapping groups of Britons. There were other political objectives, including representing Akbar II in his claims against the East India Company and learning more about those who now ruled Bengal. Sheer intellectual curiosity was another motivation, as was the desire to meet individuals—particularly Unitarians—he knew through publications or correspondence. Deeply religious, Rammohun wanted to observe spiritual life in the West too. He may also have sought materials for his planned biography of the prophet.1 Transnational networks of exchange help explain these agendas. The global circulation of texts and individuals made it possible for Rammohun to form intellectual and political alliances in Europe and North America, alliances that he could use to pursue objectives not necessarily shared by those allies. This feature of the globalizing processes at work in the early nineteenth century is the focus of the current chapter. Attention will be directed at key examples of how Rammohun turned the flow and counterflow of information to advantage. A useful place to start is the close friendship between Sir Alexander Johnston and Rammohun. The two were “most intimate” in London according to an anonymous obituary writer.2 This rings true. Johnston was popular in Ceylon for ending discrimination against Roman Catholics and introducing a system of trial by jury that included non-Europeans of all religions. He was also appreciated for granting “a ready & free access to you at all times,” listening “to any representation from us,” and not withholding “any aid or support.”3 Rammohun enjoyed a similar relationship in India with John Digby, who read the classics with him and let him improve his English skills by reading newspapers in the office. Digby also issued an order that Rammohun could sit in the presence of other Company officials, an unusual privilege for the time.4 In London, Rammohun would have sought out another open-minded individual, especially one who shared his views about juries. Johnston’s political influence and his support for legislative councils in India—including Indian membership on those councils—would also have been appealing. Shared intellectual interests, as we shall see, add to the sense



Chapter 8


of a close friendship akin to the one with Digby. A letter indicates that Rammohun planned to spend a Sunday with Johnston.5 When their relationship began is unclear. In an 1834 speech, Johnston noted that “many years ago” Rammohun had translated for him portions of the Ramayana proving that sati did not exist in ancient India.6 In the mid-1820s Rammohun received a copy of a letter that Johnston wrote in 1825 to Charles Williams Wynn, president of the Board of Control, who consulted Johnston while preparing his 1826 jury act. In this letter, Johnston outlined his reasons for including non-European jurors in Ceylon, one of which was to give them a direct interest in the judicial system. He also traced the success of his program in fostering loyalty to British rule. Someone—perhaps Johnston—transmitted this letter to Rammohun, who passed it on to his Unitarian ally, William Adam, who published it in the Calcutta Chronicle in 1827. The following year, James Silk Buckingham reprinted the letter from the Chronicle in the Oriental Herald, along with the story of its migration from Britain to Bengal and back.7 It is not certain when Rammohun received Johnston’s letter. Hence it is difficult to assess what role, if any, it played in his decision to help draft the petition against Williams Wynn’s act that was sent in November 1826, or to determine if it influenced what appears to be a second set of petitions that Rammohun sent to John Crawfurd in August 1828. The absence of any mention of Ceylon or Johnston in the petition(s) may or may not be decisive. As we saw in the last chapter, an 1821 Samvada Kaumudi article mentioned jury reforms in Ceylon and so the subject was known to Rammohun. What this episode does establish is a likely starting point for Rammohun’s friendship with Johnston, an architect of liberal imperialism. Both supported using juries to increase Indian participation in administration, and they shared the conviction that contact with British institutions and practices would regenerate India. Johnston testified to this in a speech before the Royal Asiatic Society shortly after Rammohun’s arrival. He praised the visitor (and fellow society member) for seeking to elevate his countrymen and restore Hindus to their rightful place among “the most enlightened nations in the world.” Rammohun had journeyed to Britain to examine “on the spot the practical effects of all our moral and political institutions” so that he might introduce into India those that he thought most beneficial.8 In a letter thanking Johnston for a copy of that speech, Rammohun expressed gratitude for Johnston’s “philanthropic feelings towards the people of India.”9 Those sentiments extended to Johnston’s wife, Louisa, who, as we have seen, received an inscribed copy of Rammohun’s 1832 sati pamphlet. Earlier, such amity with John Digby led to Rammohun’s first London publication, the 1817 edition of two of his Vedanta tracts. Now his friendship with Johnston spawned projects involving the flow of ideas in the other direction. According to our anonymous obituary writer, Johnston helped Rammohun formulate the idea of translating two works that would benefit Indians. One was Henry Brougham’s introductory treatise for the Library of Useful Knowledge. Johnston had arranged a visit to the lord chancellor, and Rammohun was impressed enough to want to read something by Brougham. Johnston gave him the introductory discourse, and Rammohun decided it ought to be rendered into Sanskrit, Arabic, and Persian.10 The other translation project involved Richard Whately’s Logic. Rammohun and Johnston agreed that a good work of logic would help Indians become better jurors, and they decided the best one available in English was the 1826 work by the archbishop. If our obituary writer is to be trusted, Rammohun decided to reformulate Whately’s ideas into dialogue form, using Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations as his model. The interlocutors were to be “a Brahman, who had



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come to England in search of knowledge, and an English Archbishop, who had invented the surest mode of obtaining knowledge.” Enamored of the garden at York House— Johnston’s residence in Twickenham—Rammohun wished to have this dialogue take place during walks in the garden. His interest in this location was enhanced by its proximity to the grave of Alexander Pope, “the beauty of whose Essays upon Man was a frequent theme of praise by Rammohun.”11 Apparently, nothing came of these plans. Rammohun’s enthusiasm for domesticating Western literature is nonetheless striking. It is tempting to hypothesize what he hoped to accomplish using the ideas and rhetorical strategies of Brougham, Whately, and Cicero. The reference to Pope provides surer ground for analysis. The Augustan poet was a major figure in a British satiric tradition that Rammohun had already embraced in Bengal. Unitarians, once again, provided a link to both Pope and parody. Pope’s poem probably appealed to Rammohun for its affinities to his own religious views. Critics complained that the Essay on Man omitted Jesus and the doctrines of Christianity, leaving only a God of nature. This resonated well with Rammohun’s Vedanta as did the fourth epistle’s emphasis on temporal happiness with the social gospel he shared with Unitarians. Pope’s disdain for religious bigotry and pride—“The impiety of putting [oneself] in the place of God”—finds echoes in the Tuhfat al-Muwahhidin. In that work Rammohun criticized sectarianism for creating divisive doctrines and sowing prejudice; it also diverted attention from what simple observation of nature teaches, namely, “that there exists a Being Who (with His wisdom) governs the whole universe.” Rammohun surely read in the Essay on Man Pope’s preference for the ethical doctrines of Christianity over dogmas that created division and controversy. It is safe to conclude that lines 339–40 of epistle four were favorites of Rammohun. As discussed in appendix A, he and prominent Unitarians found common ground in a verse of Sa’di and the two commandments of Jesus. In writing that “Faith, Law, Morals, all began, / All end, in Love of God, and Love of Man,” Pope reduced true religion to those same two simple injunctions.12 Unitarians may have introduced Rammohun to the Essay on Man. Pope was a favorite of many Rational Dissenters. Robert Aspland used a line from An Essay on Criticism— “Still pleas’d to praise, yet not afraid to blame”—as the motto for the review section of his Monthly Repository.13 The Essay on Man likely served as a model for Lucy Aikin’s Epistles on Women, even though Aikin disliked the poet’s view of women.14 In 1794 Gilbert Wakefield published the first volume of a planned new edition of the works of Pope, whom he described as a poet without rival.15 In 1806 a literary controversy erupted with a new edition of Pope’s works by William Bowles. Byron defended Pope’s character and poetry against Bowles in English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, modeled after Pope’s own satires. Others joined the ensuing fray, including William Roscoe, who produced in 1824 a new edition of Pope’s works. Roscoe defended Pope’s poetic greatness, employing Romantic arguments regarding individual genius.16 Unitarians could share Byron’s appreciation of Pope’s satires. Wakefield wrote imitations of Juvenal and cited Pope as a model in critical works published at the time of his trial for seditious libel in 1799.17 Although Roscoe was not moved to emulate Pope’s imitations of classical satire, he did commend the Imitations of Horace. Roscoe also wrote favorably of Pope’s Narrative of Dr. Robert Norris, where the Augustan lambasted his critic John Dennis by assuming the garb of a quack physician to relate a satirical and fictional account of Dennis’ madness.18 The anonymous author of “Satiric Fragment on the Christian Mythology, Known as the Orthodox Doctrine of the Trinity”—printed



PROVINCIALIZING ENGLAND


in the Monthly Repository—owed a debt to Pope beyond the allusion to Cromwell being “damn’d to everlasting fame” in line 284 of the fourth epistle of the Essay on Man.19 The influence of Pope and his generation can also be traced in the work of William Hone and his illustrator-collaborator, George Cruikshank. Marcus Wood notes that Augustan wits experimented with the new phenomenon of advertising, turning the distinctive language of book prospectuses, business closures, and medicinal cures into a new form of parody. Pope was both victim and perpetrator of some of these mock advertisements. Late Regency radical satirists—especially Hone and Cruikshank—built on this tradition. By their time, advertising had evolved to include extensive use of new attention-getting features such headlines, bold type, and illustrations. Hone and Cruikshank used all of these to great advantage in The Political House that Jack Built, The Queen’s Matrimonial Ladder, and other popular works satirizing the Tory administration and George IV.20 Hone also produced his own pamphlets displaying a debt to Popean wit. One was an 1817 mock account of a trial of a rabid dog that supposedly had bitten Castlereagh. This depended for its effect on another pamphlet that, imitating Pope’s A Full and True Account of a Horrid and Barbarous Revenge by Poison, on the Body of Mr. Edm. Curll, had turned the fictional sufferings of Castlereagh into political comedy.21 Hone was a genius at political satire, churning out 175 works between 1815 and 1821. He drew upon many models and innovations besides the Augustans and newspaper advertising.22 Among these was the tradition of religious parody. In December 1817 Hone was tried three times, twice for seditious and blasphemous libel, and once for blasphemous libel. On each occasion he defended himself and won acquittal. The trials turned Hone into a national celebrity and led to a pause in prosecutions of the radical press. The trials were occasioned by parodies of the Anglican catechism and litany and of the Athanasian creed, each of which Hone used to mock the political establishment. Hone based his defense on the argument that his works were political squibs and did not seek to bring Christianity into disrepute. To support his case, Hone brought into the record numerous examples of biblical parodies dating back to the medieval period. He cited parodies produced by prominent and respected figures ranging from Luther and Bishop Hugh Latimer to Milton and Edmund Burke.23 Unitarianism is central to Hone’s parodies and successful defense. Hone was then a Unitarian and stung by the blasphemy charges. The works for which he was prosecuted were send-ups of Anglican and Trinitarian texts. Hone turned to Unitarians for assistance and found ready assistance.24 Unitarians had compelling legal reasons to support Hone. Earlier in 1817 John Wright was charged under common law in Liverpool with blasphemy for publicly denying the doctrines of the Trinity and atonement. A few months later, the Wolverhampton Chapel case was brought before the court of chancery, with its ominous potential for removing Unitarian congregations from chapels and endowments they controlled. During the proceedings, counsel for the orthodox Independents seeking control of the chapel argued that Unitarianism remained illegal under common law and that its doctrines were blasphemous. Thus, when Hone turned to Robert Aspland for help at his first trial, he found a ready ally. The minister, editor, and Unitarian activist provided Hone with books and examples of religious parodies. Aspland also sat at the satirist’s side during his first trial, taking notes, selecting texts for Hone to read, and suggesting arguments. Other Unitarians contributed moral support and supplied more examples of religious parodies, which Hone kept as part of the large collection he amassed for a planned history of the genre. Not surprisingly,



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parodies of the doctrine of the Trinity—many of them visual ones—form the heart of his collection.25 The Unitarian taste for mockery found its way to Bengal. In January 1818 “Dialogue between a Trinitarian Missionary and Three Chinese Converts” appeared in Aspland’s Christian Reformer. Aspland founded this journal in 1815 to reach what Francis Mineka called “a humbler class of readers.” Most of the early issues were written by Aspland.26 The “Dialogue” was penned, however, by “O,” a contributor from 1817 onward with an interest in China.27 The identity of O is not known, but like Hone and Cruikshank (s)he recognized the subversive power of humor and its appeal to lower-class audiences in the waning years of the Regency.28 The “Dialogue” was dated December 1, 1817, nearly three weeks before the first trial of Hone, but Aspland apparently only felt comfortable publishing it after Hone’s acquittals. The “Dialogue” was inspired by an anecdote in the Evangelical Magazine that had been unwittingly taken from Voltaire. The anecdote relates how a Chinese convert, when asked by a Roman Catholic missionary how many Gods there are, responded none because, as the missionary knew, he had eaten the one true God the day before. O turned this poke at transubstantiation into a playful anti-Trinitarian satire. In the “Dialogue” the missionary has become a Calvinist and the converts now number three, each of whom answers differently to the question. One believes there are three Gods because of the holy Trinity. Another agrees that those three had once existed, but one of them had died a long time ago, so now there were only two. The third Chinese convert believes there are no Gods because the missionary had told him “again and again, that there never was but one God, that Christ was the true God, and that a nation of merchants living at the head of the Arabian gulf, put him to death upon a tree, about eighteen hundred years ago. Believing you, [the convert continued], what other answer could I give than ‘None’?”29 In 1823 the “Dialogue” was republished in Bengal. A Bengali translation by Rammohun appeared about the same time. It is widely believed that Rammohun authored the English version as well, and the 1823 edition of the “Dialogue” has been included in standard collections of his works since 1885.30 This is a mistake. In an 1824 review of Calcutta tracts, Aspland wrote that on May 16, 1823 the “Dialogue” had been reprinted in Calcutta from his Christian Reformer. He described the original as “a theological jeu d’esprit” and well suited for “an Oriental reader.”31 Unless Rammohun was a contributor to the Hackney-based Christian Reformer by 1817—a most unlikely possibility—the idea that he authored the English original can no longer be entertained. The fact that the original “Dialogue” is dated December 1, 1817, and was published the very next month makes impossible that it originated in Calcutta. What is clear here is that the flow of Unitarian works to Bengal included an example of the subversive power of satire. Aspland indicated that three other tracts from the Christian Reformer were republished in Calcutta in May 1823. These too have been incorrectly attributed to Rammohun.32 The tracts originally appeared in Aspland’s journal in 1815, 1816, and 1817 and were reprinted with only minor changes within the space of a few days in Calcutta. The first was titled “Questions to Trinitarians.” It circulated widely in Britain and spawned the follow-up “More Questions to Trinitarians.” When republished in Calcutta, the two were given fresh titles—“A Few Queries for the Serious Consideration of Trinitarians” Parts I and II—but otherwise they scarcely differed from the originals. The same holds for the third tract, a dialogue between a Unitarian minister and an itinerant bookseller.33





All three tracts are noticeably lacking in the satirical tone that pervades O’s “Dialogue,” which fell on fertile ground in Bengal. In January 1823 Rammohun published his very long Final Appeal to the Christian Public. If he still thought that rational argumentation and careful biblical exegesis would triumph in Christian theological controversy, the 300-page rejoinder to the Final Appeal that Marshman eventually published surely dissuaded him.34 Rammohun had already experimented with alternative methods of engaging the missionaries. In 1821 he published The Brahmunical Magazine under the pseudonym of his pandit, Sivaprasad Sarma.35 A series of tracts, the Magazine was published in three installments in 1821 and a fourth one in 1823. These defended Rammohun’s interpretation of Vedanta—and Hinduism in general—and criticized the missionaries for believing in the doctrines of the Trinity and atonement. As Dermot Killingley notes, using the persona of a devout Hindu allowed Rammohun to defend Hinduism more openly than he did in his other English writings.36 Writing as a learned pandit—albeit one with intimate knowledge of Unitarian discourse—gave him greater latitude to challenge the missionaries for propagating dubious doctrines under imperial protection. The third and fourth issues of the Magazine ridiculed missionary charges that Hinduism was an irrational religion by holding up for contempt orthodox arguments supporting the Trinity. No rational person could believe such absurdities, unless prejudiced in favor of them through early indoctrination.37 While these points are implicit in his Second and Final Appeal, Rammohun adopts in those works the moderate tone of a learned Rational Dissenter. Publishing under the guise of Sivaprasad Sarma allowed Rammohun to vent anger at the missionaries for abusing Hinduism and sarcasm at their pretensions to religious superiority. In May 1823 Rammohun adopted another persona, one that gave him greater license to employ the power of ridicule. This coincided with republication of O’s “Dialogue” in Calcutta. During May and June 1823 a war of words took place in that city between Unitarians and Trinitarians.38 Among the contributions were the four tracts republished from the Christian Reformer. Also noteworthy was A Vindication of the Incarnation of the Deity, as the Common Basis of Hindooism and Christianity by one Ram Doss, an orthodox Hindu. This consisted of an exchange of letters between Ram Doss and Dr. Robert Tytler, an East India Company surgeon and outspoken orthodox Christian. Most of the letters had been previously published in newspapers. Ram Doss was the alias of Rammohun. He first used this persona in a letter written probably on May 5, eleven days prior to the republication of the “Dialogue.” It is a safe bet that Rammohun knew of the latter prior to May 16. O’s satire was five years old by this point. It had first appeared in the fourth volume of the Christian Reformer, while the three other reissued tracts came from the first three volumes of Aspland’s journal. This suggests that a run of the Christian Reformer was in the hands of Calcutta Unitarians prior to the decision to republish selections from it, beginning May 9. That same month, William Adam published a Unitarian tract as well, while the tract by Ram Doss appeared on June 3.39 All this suggests a concerted effort by the Calcutta Unitarian Committee. The Vindication and “Dialogue” were twinned satires. Rammohun’s contest with Tytler began with the latter challenging the author of the Final Appeal to a debate. Rammohun demurred, unless the layman acquired missionary endorsement of his scriptural interpretation. An exchange of letters followed, with Tytler—no Baptist—objecting to this stipulation and accusing Rammohun of flinching from verbal combat. Tytler was joined by another lay person, whom Rammohun also declined to debate, indicating that he preferred to do battle with the missionaries, whom



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he described as “aggressors.” This drew another response from Tytler, who rebuked Rammohun for avoiding controversy with the Christian public over his Unitarian Final Appeal.40 In the midst of this flurry of letters, Rammohun hit upon the idea of assuming again the persona of an orthodox Hindu. As before, his real target was the missionaries, but now he delivered an indirect blow. Ram Doss would enter the fray by appealing to Tytler for an alliance of orthodoxy against heretical Unitarians. This alliance was possible, Ram Doss argued, because both Hindus and Trinitarian Christians were polytheists, believed in divine incarnation, and knew that human reason was too frail to understand the mysteries of God. Initially wary of Ram Doss’ real identity, Tytler soon took the bait and thundered against the idea that Christianity was on par with the religion that he and the missionaries abhorred. Ram Doss kept egging the volatile doctor on, asking that Tytler quit abusing Hinduism and reminding him of their common enemy—the Unitarians and their rationalist monotheism—and of their common core belief in “      .” Tytler was joined by another lay person (“A Christian”) who vehemently objected to the idea that Christianity could be compared with Hinduism. To this, Ram Doss offered the same rejoinder: “            .”41 Rammohun had been making these points for some time. In 1821 he argued in the Second Appeal that Trinitarian Christians should not level the charge of polytheism at Hindus because they were guilty on the same charge, using similar logic and the same appeal to divine mystery to defend the proposition that God could be one, yet many.42 The comparison peppered his private correspondence too. Writing to Jared Sparks of Baltimore in 1822, Rammohun suggested that, thanks to Trinitarians, the true message of Christianity was “hidden under the veil of heathen doctrines and practices.” In the 1824 letter thanking an unnamed Scot for helping him read the Bible through Unitarian eyes, Rammohun described his initial encounter with Christianity as the discovery that Trinitarian doctrines resemble “in substance” the “gross absurdities of Hindoo doctrines.” He added then his hope to publish a work that would show “the close resemblance existing between the doctrines maintained by Hindoos and the majority of Christians.” In 1827 Rammohun wrote to the Bristol Unitarian, J. B. Estlin, regarding “the corruptions and absurd notions which have gradually disfigured genuine Christianity, and have brought it to the level of heathen mythology.”43 According to Buckingham, sometime before Thomas Middleton died in 1822 Rammohun informed the first bishop of Calcutta that, if becoming a Christian required believing in three divine persons, “he could not see adequate reason for renouncing the creed of his countrymen in millions of divinities.”44 What changed in May 1823 is that Rammohun turned to satire to drive home these ideas. Some six months earlier he had written to Sparks that Trinitarian missionaries incited “ridicule instead of respect.” In 1824 he wrote to another correspondent that the missionaries were “not aware of what ridicule they have brought upon their doctrines in India.”45 In between those two letters Rammohun tried his best to enlighten his foes. Writing as Ram Doss, he publicly mocked Trinitarian Christianity by placing it on a level with the Hinduism belittled by the missionaries. In addition, he helped propagate O’s satirical account of three Chinese converts struggling to make sense of missionary teachings. The example of Alexander Pope hovers over the Ram Doss letters. Rammohun published various works anonymously or using pseudonyms. The names he adopted





included those of pandits, associates, and a servant.46 Dermot Killingley argues that Rammohun wanted to create the impression that others shared his views and take advantage of the rhetorical possibilities offered by personae. Literary masks provided multiple ways to engage the reading public. Rammohun could address missionaries in the guise of rationalist Vedantin, offended pandit, or mocking Hindu. What sets the persona of Ram Doss apart, Killingley notes, is that Rammohun chose a fictitious name and a point of view antithetical to his own.47 Killingley incorrectly attributes the “Dialogue” to Rammohun and thus is wrong to include the three Chinese converts in Rammohun’s repertoire of personae. He is right, however, to focus on the literary device of masking, a prominent part of the satiric tradition that gave rise to O’s “Dialogue.” Literary personae were frequently used by Augustan writers and few were more skilled in their possibilities than Pope.48 An Essay on Man was published in a clever manner to trap critics into thinking it was the work of a new author. Once they had publicly praised it, Pope knew that his literary enemies would not be able to retract their comments.49 Pope was member of the Scriblerus Club, along with Jonathan Swift and John Gay, among others. Besides giving rise to Gulliver’s Travels and Pope’s Dunciad, the club produced mock works by or about one Martinus Scriblerus. These included a memoir of what Pope’s biographer describes as the “learned fool” whose fictional life and works the club used to ridicule folly in its many manifestations.50 Pope became literary “executor” of Scriblerus’ works. While active in the club, he produced a work that calls to mind what Rammohun did with Ram Doss. A Key to the Lock was written to fend off political criticism of The Rape of the Lock, Pope’s great mock epic. Already under attack for his Catholicism, and aware of the treacherous environment created by George I’s succession, Pope could ill afford to have The Rape of the Lock branded as a pro-Catholic, pro-Stuart poem. Donning the disguise of a Protestant Dutchman named Esdras Barnivelt, Pope wrote A Key to “prove” that there was indeed a political message hidden in Rape of the Lock. The point was to ridicule those who would look for such meaning.51 Ram Doss served a similar purpose for Rammohun. He mocked Trinitarian Christians by using the voice of an orthodox Hindu to agree with their views of his own “deluded” Unitarianism. Rammohun also adopted a Popean strategy in criticizing himself through his alter ego. Barnivelt lambasted Pope as a papist set on undermining the political order, and Ram Doss dismissed Rammohun as an apostate whom Hindus regarded “in the same light as Christians do Hume, Voltaire, Gibbon and other sceptics.”52 This argument, however, should not be pushed too far. It is not clear that Rammohun knew anything of Pope beyond the Essay on Man. Moreover, Indians enjoyed their own traditions of mockery. As C. A. Bayly notes, this was a rich heritage. In Rajasthan and elsewhere in India, bards had considerable license to use satire to convey subversive messages. Fables were employed to drive home political messages. Popular at festivals were social comedies ridiculing caste pretensions, as were the travelling puppeteers, jugglers, and theater groups whose repertoires included political satires. Sarcastic poems and songs on social and political topics were standard fare in bazaars.53 Rammohun was victim of the last. At the time of the abolition of sati, “comical poetry caricaturing the principles of the great reformer were composed by the wags of the time, and passed from mouth to mouth until the streets rang with laughter and ridicule.”54 His journey to Britain was another target. In one popular song of the 1830s, Rammohun was lampooned as a brahman’s son who “once believed the holy Veds, and all their ancient stories” but was now a heretic forsaking this “to talk of Whigs and Tories.”55



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Obviously, Rammohun would have learned to respect the power of satire independently of European influences. Yet, thanks to the circulation of Unitarian works such as O’s “Dialogue,” we can be certain that Rammohun came into contact with a British satiric tradition indebted to Pope’s experimentation with parodies and literary personae. Ram Doss should be read as the product of this cross-cultural fertilization. Rammohun employed his orthodox Hindu alias with considerable skill. This is apparent in his exchange with “A Christian,” the letter writer who joined Tytler in the fray against Ram Doss. “A Christian” alluded to the intellectual progress among some Hindus, citing Rammohun as an example. He (the gender is not in doubt) added that the reformer did not stoop to Ram Doss’ insults, but preferred Christianity above all other religions. It was sad to observe those “indebted to Christians for the civil liberty they enjoy, as well as for the rays of intelligence, now beginning to dawn on them,” ungenerously insulting their benefactors “by endeavouring to degrade their religion [Christianity] . . . because they cannot comprehend its sublime Mysteries.” Offended by the supposition that Christianity and Hinduism were on a level, “A Christian” made a stark sectarian appeal: “Christian Readers, are you so far degraded by Asiatic effeminacy as to behold with indifference your holy and immaculate  thus degraded by having it placed on an equality with disgraceful ignorance and shameful superstition?” He also asked Ram Doss to address several matters that, in his eyes, proved the superiority of Christianity. These included the “stupendous miracles” performed by Jesus and “the sweet influence of Christianity” in improving human kind.56 Although a critic of the Baptist missionaries, “A Christian” played perfectly into Rammohun’s hands. Ram Doss feasted on the smug sense of religious superiority. The incarnation of Rama was foretold by ancient prophets in precise and intelligible language that outshines “those ambiguous and equivocal terms found in the Old Testament” regarding the coming of Christ. With a bow in the direction of Hume, Ram Doss asserted the superiority of Rama’s miracles based on the reliability of those who witnessed them. To the claim regarding Christianity’s humane influences, Ram Doss called on “the Christian to mention any religion on the face of the earth that has been the cause of so much war and bloodshed, cruelty and oppression, for so many hundred years as this whose ‘sweet influence’ he celebrates.” Christians who comported themselves better than others owed this to a superior education, the benefits of which non-Christians could also enjoy. Mentioning Rammohun Roy’s example was to no avail because (as noted) the reformer was an apostate akin to the likes of Hume and Voltaire. Finally, if Ram Doss cannot comprehend the sublime mysteries of Christianity, the same is true of “A Christian” regarding those of Hinduism. Since mysteries defy human understanding, there can be no reason to prefer those of Christianity.57 “A Christian” also gave Rammohun an opening for challenging the cultural paternalism undergirding the colonial state. Ram Doss answered the comment about Asiatic effeminacy by reminding those Christians who think it “degrading to be born or to reside in Asia” that “almost all the ancient prophets and patriarchs venerated by Christians, nay even Jesus Christ himself, a Divine Incarnation and the founder of the Christian Faith, were .” He met the claim about the dawning of intelligence by restricting the intellectual benefits of colonial rule to the introduction of mechanical arts. But “with respect to Science, Literature, or Religion,” Ram Doss asserted, “I do not acknowledge that we are placed under any obligation” to the British. History demonstrates that “the World was indebted to our ancestors for the first dawn of knowledge.”58





The central aim of the Ram Doss letters—and Rammohun’s other challenges to missionary pretensions—is to provincialize orthodox Christianity.59 Neither unique nor ideal, Trinitarianism is but a local example of a widespread phenomenon. Why give up the Hindu version of incarnation, Rammohun asked, for one that Europeans preferred? This conclusion was strengthened by the realization that Christianity was in its origins non-European. Whatever merits there were to be found in the teachings of the Asiatic Jesus should be divorced from centuries of European misinterpretation and doctrinal refinements. If the precepts of Jesus were universally applicable, Asia was home to the model. Rammohun came to this perspective from Hindu and Muslim rationalist traditions. Unitarianism, however, should not be underestimated as a factor. Rational Dissenters introduced him to scholarship indicating that the faults that Trinitarians shared with other religions could be attributed to the polytheism of early Greek and Roman converts. They supplied a key insight—the role of prejudice in sustaining illogical doctrines— useful for understanding the persistence of paganism in orthodox Christianity.60 Unitarians also provided leverage against the missionaries, demonstrating to his satisfaction that the Baptists were deluded about the truths of Christianity. It was easy to take this one step further and equate orthodox Christians and Hindus. The power of satire was placed in Rammohun’s hands by Unitarians as well. The Chinese converts in O’s “Dialogue” did a pretty good job of provincializing the Trinity as a doctrine unintelligible to the outside world. A measure of Rammohun’s debt to this tradition of subversive humor is Robert Tytler’s response to the first Ram Doss letter. The doctor initially suspected that this jeu d’esprit was the production of a member of the Calcutta Unitarian community. He directed his reply to that individual hiding behind the mask of an orthodox Hindu: “I am ready,— , ,—to meet you and your runnagate friend Rammohun Roy” for a debate about “the damnable Heresy of Unitarianism.”61 Unitarian satirists could face more than outrage. Political prosecution was a real danger, as the trials of William Hone proved. Since the late seventeenth century, British legal tradition held Christianity to be part and parcel of the common law of the land. Anything that undermined Christianity—blasphemy, in a word—weakened the political system and should be suppressed.62 Since the established church rested its authority and social doctrines squarely on the divinity of Christ, those who claimed that Jesus was only human constituted a serious challenge.63 Hone was a case in point. In the eyes of the authorities, his parodies warranted prosecution because they ridiculed forms of worship established by parliament, bringing the established church and public worship into disrepute.64 Hone’s acquittals rendered satires safe from prosecution, although this was not immediately evident.65 The government remained concerned about the political dangers of religious radicalism, particularly among the lower classes. The cases of Richard Carlile and Robert Wedderburn testify to this. At their respective trials for blasphemous libel in 1819 and 1820, prosecutors successfully argued that they undermined the constitution by denigrating Christianity.66 As with Hone, Unitarians had a special interest in their trials. Carlile brought Unitarianism into his defense. He claimed that Unitarians were Deists like he was, but in disguise, and thus he should be immune from prosecution for blasphemy as they were under the 1813 Trinity Act. As we saw in chapter 1, William J. Fox was supportive of Carlile, likening his prosecution to the earlier persecution of Unitarians.67 Most Unitarians, however, were cool to Carlile’s claims. Robert Aspland probably spoke for many when he lamented Carlile’s persecution, but expressed no sympathy for the



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radical editor and denied any connection with Deism. Aspland was provoked to draw a sharp distinction when an Anglican clergyman suggested that Carlile was correct in asserting that Unitarians were but Deists in cloaks.68 Rebutting this was no mere debating point. Deism was often seen as a mask for militant atheism,69 and the accusation had legal repercussions. The 1813 Trinity Act had provided some measure of freedom of conscience for anti-Trinitarians. Denial of Christianity, however, remained a crime under common law. Deists were susceptible to prosecution, but so too were Unitarians, should a judge or magistrate construe denial of the Trinity as blasphemous. In 1818 Jeremy Bentham had brought this to the attention of William Smith—author of the 1813 act—noting the unabated power of the state to “grind to powder all such christians as yourself” through common law prosecutions for blasphemy. The Anglican who provoked Aspland’s denunciation of Carlile liked the idea, suggesting that the 1813 act should never have been passed, so that Unitarians would continuously have the threat of prosecution “suspended as a sword over their heads.” This was the case in any event. Into the 1820s various legal authorities opined that the 1813 act did not make Unitarianism legal under common law.70 Aspland thus had reason to distance himself from a Deist courting martyrdom.71 He found it necessary, but easier, to do the same with Wedderburn. A West Indian with a slave mother and Scot father, Wedderburn ended up in Britain where he became a significant figure in the postwar radical political scene.72 He adopted anti-Trinitarian views, and from 1818 to 1820 he presided over Unitarian “chapels” that were fronts for ultraradical political activity. Others also took advantage of the protection provided by the 1813 Trinity Act to establish radical debating clubs in the guise of Unitarian chapels. Wedderburn excelled, as Iain McCalman notes, “at radical burlesque and buffoonery,” entertaining his lower-class audiences with a mixture of political and religious ribaldry and scoffing.73 Just before Peterloo, one topic of debate at his chapel was “Can it be Murder to Kill a Tyrant?” Wedderburn regaled audiences with statements that Moses was a “whoremonger” and Jesus a “Jewish Vampire.” Aware of the political nature of Wedderburn’s chapel, the authorities easily won a blasphemy conviction in 1820.74 Aspland dismissed Wedderburn as a “profane scoffer” with no claim to the title of Unitarian minister. The out-of-work tailor, Aspland noted, was but “a tool in the hands of others,” namely Erasmus Perkins, editor of an account of Wedderburn’s trial. Whoever stood behind the pseudonym, Aspland was sure that Perkins was a well-educated atheist “wicked enough to wish to overthrow religion.” 75 Aspland was on target. McCalman has identified Perkins as George Cannon, an educated, free-thinking ultraradical who established complex relationships with financially desperate, semiliterate radicals. Cannon ghost wrote and financed publications for which Wedderburn and others took the credit—and the risk of prosecution—in the tumultuous years 1819–1821.76 We will return to the world of unrespectable radicalism that Cannon inhabited. Here it is important to note Aspland’s need to distinguish Unitarianism from that world. His denomination had enough enemies as it was. The situation in early colonial Bengal was different. Christianity was not the state religion and Unitarianism could hardly be construed a threat to the law of the land. The population was overwhelmingly Hindu and Muslim, and noninterference in religion was official policy. The ruling class, however, was nominally Christian and, for the most part, Trinitarian. Moreover, after 1813 a bishopric of Calcutta existed, creating the semblance of a church-state relationship. Lampooning orthodox Christian doctrines thus had subversive potential, especially when coming from the pen of one of the colonized.





“A Christian” hinted at this when criticizing Ram Doss for insulting the Christian benefactors who were bringing liberty and knowledge to India. A member of the Bengal government also took exception to Rammohun’s mockery. William B. Bayley’s long career with the East India Company led to stints as acting governor-general and chairman of the Court of Directors, among other important posts.77 At the end of 1822 he was member of the governor-general’s council and one of those worried by the free press in Bengal. In October 1822 he wrote a lengthy minute on the subject.78 Rammohun’s papers came under special attention, in part because of his collusion with Buckingham. The agitation of the two against sati disconcerted Bayley, who thought this could be ended only by the Hindu community.79 He was also concerned about the Persian-language papers’ reporting of court intrigues and political corruption in the princely state of Awadh, one of the Company’s oldest allies.80 Rammohun’s Mirat al-Akhbar drew Bayley’s attention for another reason. On July 8, 1822 the first bishop of Calcutta, Thomas Middleton, died. Two days later the government published news of his death, called on all Christians to show due respect, and asked that “the principal officers of government, both civil and military” attend interment. Middleton was buried in the Calcutta cathedral on July 12. That day the flag at Fort William flew at half-mast, and a firing of guns from the fort announced the funeral procession.81 On July 13, Buckingham printed a translation of an obituary from the previous day’s Mirat. This referred to Middleton as “a supporter of the doctrine of the glorious Trinity” and closed with the following: “Having been relieved from the distresses and anxieties of this uncertain world, [Middleton] now reposes in the bosom of the mercy of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.”82 Bayley took offense. In his October minute, Bayley wrote harshly of Rammohun’s obituary: the [Mirat] Editor[’]s known disposition for theological controversy has led him to seize an occasion for publishing remarks on the Trinity, which although covertly and insidiously conveyed, strike me as being exceedingly offensive. The circumstance in which the discussion originated was a notice in the above Paper [Mirat] on the subject of the death of Dr. Middleton the late Bishop of Calcutta. After some laudatory remarks on his learning and dignity the article concludes by stating that the Bishop having been now relieved from the cares and anxieties of this world, had “tumbled on the shoulders of the mercy of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.”

This last sentence, “coming from a known impugner of the doctrine of the Trinity,” Bayley noted, “could only be considered as ironical.”83 This was obviously a reference to the Second Appeal, which appeared in 1821. Bayley was no less upset with Rammohun’s response when another newspaper found his comments inappropriate. Instead of apologizing, Rammohun feigned misunderstanding of the objection and published a defense that in Bayley’s mind constituted “an aggravation of the offense.” He [the Editor] says, “with respect to what was said of God the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, since the Preachers of the Christian religion constantly in every Church throughout the year read their articles of faith with a loud voice, not regarding the presence of either Hindoo or Mussulman, and declare their conviction that salvation is to be found only in the belief of the Three in One, what doubt can there be then



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A later issue of the Mirat also displeased Bayley. Rammohun quoted an unnamed Persian poet to chide those who chastised him for mentioning the Trinity: “whosoever[’s] religion,” wrote the poet, “is such that the mere mention of the God of it, is a cause of shame, we may readily guess what kind of religion that is, and what sort of people are its professors.”85 Bayley was irritated by the pretense Rammohun made of not comprehending why orthodox Christians objected to the concluding sentence of his obituary. Rammohun employed here the rhetorical strategy found in O’s “Dialogue.” Trinitarian clergyman in Calcutta preach the doctrine of Three in One; hence, what rational conclusion could his Persian-reading audience reach about orthodox Christians, other than that “they believe in the Three” Gods of the Trinity? To the outside world, unversed in the subtleties of European traditions of interpretation, Trinitarians were polytheists. Bayley could not overlook Rammohun’s poke at the Bengal government either. The Mirat, as noted in chapter 6, was more theoretical and international in nature than Rammohun’s other newspapers. Political ideas and institutions were often discussed. Besides providing commentary on international events, the Mirat devoted considerable attention to domestic political intelligence. Bayley objected to this reporting, claiming that the Persian-language paper spread false and misleading information about diplomatic and political matters, particularly regarding Awadh.86 When he wrote that Rammohun had aggravated his original offense, Bayley surely had in mind the condescending comment about no longer writing in Persian regarding the version of Christianity professed by the governor-general. Rammohun had used his political paper to suggest that the highest colonial official was a polytheist on par with his lowest Hindu subjects. This struck at a pillar of British rule. A commonplace of Company officials of this period was the idea that their empire was based on the respect with which Indians regarded them. As John Malcolm wrote, our “empire is held solely by opinion; . . . by that respect and awe with which the comparative superiority of our knowledge, justice, and system of rule, have inspired the inhabitants” of British India.87 Lord Hastings’ decision to lift restrictions on the Bengali press led to worries that a free press would weaken that respect and awe. In 1823 the Court of Directors used this argument in an attempt to persuade the president of the Board of Control, Charles Williams Wynn, to seek parliament’s consent for a return to licensing of the press in India. Citing the vital importance of Indian opinion of British superiority, the Court’s chairs expressed concern that a “free Press would tend materially to lower the European character in the estimation of the Natives.”88 When Williams Wynn ignored this argument, the chairs renewed their plea, using the additional evidence supplied by Bayley in his October 1822 minute. They pointed to Bayley’s account of disturbing reports in the Persian-language papers regarding Awadh and the acrimonious debates over sati in the Bengali papers.89 Bayley’s comments regarding Rammohun’s mockery of the Trinity reveals, however, deeper anxieties about Indian opinion. Unitarianism, in a word, helped Rammohun undermine the cultural authority of colonialism. It provided an alternative reading of Christianity that assisted him in situating the religion of the ruling class in the context of a religious tradition he had already



but they believe in the Three whom I have mentioned . . . But since it seems the mere mention in the Persian language of the essential principles of the Christian religion is an aspersion of the faith professed by the Governor General and all its [sic] followers, I shall therefore avoid this fault in future.”84


abandoned. Debates with orthodox opponents gave him confidence in the intellectual weakness of their position. Thanks to the Unitarian tradition, he could attribute the durability of Trinitarian views to the power of early education to instill prejudice, which worked its magic among colonizer and colonized alike. It also provided historical tools for understanding Greco-Roman influences that made it easier to see the religion of colonial officialdom as anything but unique. And Unitarianism gave Rammohun confidence to laugh at the religiopolitical rituals of an emerging colonial state. Rammohun applied his provincializing project to the metropole too. In November 1824 he penned a letter under the alias of Ram Doss to a barrister named French who had vilified Unitarians while defending two of Richard Carlile’s shopkeepers charged with blasphemous libel. Rammohun sent this letter to Britain along with his second pamphlet of correspondence between Ram Doss and Tytler. Robert Aspland printed the letter, but did not review the pamphlet, in the Monthly Repository in 1825.90 The year before, Aspland had reviewed the Ram Doss-Tytler correspondence as found in A Vindication of the Incarnation of the Deity. Not sure who was behind Ram Doss in his 1824 review, Aspland suspected a brahman sharing Rammohun’s views, but one who had “stopped short at Hindoo Monotheism.”91 When he printed Ram Doss’ letter to French, Aspland did not speculate on the author, but related Sandford Arnot’s claim that it was the work of “some red-hot idolator” and had been sent to him just before his deportation from India.92 The letter to French picks up where those to Tytler left off. The “holy alliance” that Ram Doss wanted to build now included hot-headed Trinitarians in Britain. Encouraged by French’s intemperate words, Ram Doss expressed satisfaction at the prospect of Unitarians—that “nest of serpents” in the barrister’s words—being driven from their jobs, homes, and country, as well as excluded from heaven for denying divine incarnation. Both Hindu and Christian scripture, Ram Doss added, “prove that God has never chosen to manifest himself in the flesh in any quarter of the world but in Asia.” This was so, “doubtless because its inhabitants have been always his most favourite and peculiar people.”93 This cheeky turning of the world upside down had a serious side. In the letter to “A Christian” Ram Doss had argued that Jesus was an Asiatic. In London, Rammohun made this point again. William J. Fox reported how Rammohun had complained “with somewhat of an indignant feeling” about a painting of Jesus that he saw in London. The artist “was false,” according to Fox’s account of Rammohun’s comments, “for he had given him the pale European countenance, not remembering that Jesus Christ was an oriental.” Fox took Rammohun’s criticism to heart, arguing for a blend of the intellectualism of theology and “that rich oriental colouring of fancy and feeling with which the Scriptures glow.”94 Rammohun’s notion of the Asiatic Jesus would prove influential in later Bengali intellectual circles, while Fox’s receptivity to it would replay itself in nineteenth-century encounters between Western Unitarians and Bengali religious reformers. It is beyond the scope of this book to explore the rich history of the competing ways in which K. C. Sen, P. C. Majumdar, Vivekananda, Charles Dall, and others distinguished the ethical doctrines of “the Oriental Christ” from the Eurocentric Christianity brought to India by missionaries. This idea would acquire nationalist overtones and influence Hindu reformers and revivalists.95 Here we can only note that this discussion began with Rammohun’s effort to put colonial Britain in its place using analytical and rhetorical tools supplied in part by heterodox Christians.



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Contacts abroad helped Rammohun with his provincializing project. North American Unitarians were crucial here. We have seen how members of the new American denomination established contact with Rammohun in the 1820s. This exchange of information convinced the Bengali that the young republic had distinct advantages. Rammohun thought America “that land of liberty,” where free discussion of religious and political matters prevailed.96 This made it likely that the United States would experience faster progress than Britain toward true religion. In a revealing 1824 letter to Henry Ware of Boston, Rammohun gave explicit voice to this view. The letter is distinguished by the harshness with which Rammohun denounces orthodox Christianity and the patronizing tone he adopts toward Unitarians. After congratulating Ware for American efforts to purify “the religion of Christ from those absurd, idolatrous doctrines and practices, with which the Greek, Roman and Barbarian converts to Christianity have mingled it,” Rammohun coldly stated what purification meant. Nothing can be a more acceptable homage to the Divine Majesty, or a better tribute to reason, than an attempt to root out the idea that the omnipresent Deity should be generated in the womb of a female, and live in a state of subjugation for several years, and lastly offer his blood to another version of the Godhead whose anger could not be appeased except by the sacrifice of a portion of himself in a human form.

Some in England were also engaged in this laudable undertaking. From the nature of her constitution, however, these worthy men have not only to contend with the religious prejudices of education in the popular corruptions of Christianity; but are also opposed by all the force which the Established Church derives from the abundant revenues appropriated to the sustainers of her dogmas.

Fortunately, Americans had only to contend with “prejudice unarmed with wealth and power.” And in the area of “free inquiry into religious truth,” Rammohun wrote Ware, America “excels even England, and I have therefore every reason to hope, that the truths of Christianity will soon, throughout the United States, triumph over the present prevailing corruptions.”97 In letters to British Unitarians from this period (1823–1824), Rammohun muted his criticism of Trinitarianism, but adopted the same patronizing tone in congratulating those trying to free their religion from “heathenish doctrines and absurd notions.” He pointedly asked how subscription to the “avowedly incomprehensible” Thirty-Nine Articles could still be part of England’s national church.98 Firsthand observation did little to shake these convictions. The American Unitarian Joseph Tuckerman met Rammohun in London and recorded the latter’s disappointment in the state of religion there. Bigoted attachment to creed and established church was a major problem.99 Rammohun thus turned the tables on Western religious reformers. His was now the voice offering praise or criticism. Contacts with North American Unitarians emboldened Rammohun here. Christianity needed reform, but this would come fastest in the land of liberty, not the land of state religion. This explains Rammohun’s interest in visiting the United States. He first indicated this in 1822 letters to Baltimore Unitarians.100 In 1830 David Reed informed his Unitarian readership of Rammohun’s planned





embassy to Britain, adding that the Bengali “will undoubtedly visit America.”101 While in London, Rammohun conveyed his plans to visit the United States directly to the American Unitarians Joseph Tuckerman and William Channing. One goal was to meet Channing, whom he admired and who offered him accommodation in Boston. In his letter to Channing, Rammohun expressed a desire to witness “the progress of the truths of Christianity” in America.102 This network of supporters across the Atlantic gave Rammohun leverage in Britain on a political matter of deep interest to him. As previous chapters indicate, Rammohun shared broadly in the political views of reformers and free traders. His interest in constitutional liberalism had been nurtured in Calcutta, where he was prominent in celebrating or lamenting the victories and defeats of the liberal cause in Portugal, Naples, and the Spanish colonies in the 1820s. His views were so well known that Spanish liberals dedicated the reissuance of their 1812 constitution to him.103 Rammohun arrived in Britain just after the first reform bill was defeated. In the next chapter we will see how Rammohun was attracted to the idea of standing for parliament. This is not the only evidence of his engagement with reform during the crisis of 1831–1832. On his voyage, Rammohun eagerly sought out news from passing ships regarding the status of the first reform bill. His time in Liverpool was kept short so that he could attend a Commons debate on that bill.104 He pressed William Roscoe for an introduction to Henry Brougham in order to obtain a gallery seat for the debate.105 In Manchester, Rammohun addressed a crowd of factory workers and called on them to support the Whig ministry and reform, to which the crowd “answered with loud shouts, ‘The King and Reform for ever.’ ” Tory acquaintances in London got an earful, including Sir Edward Hyde East, who was reproached by Rammohun for voting with the “vagabonds” against the reform bill in 1831.106 Others described him in London as “full, indeed overflowing, in favour of reform.”107 An unknown person recorded a conversation with him in March of 1832. Rammohun spoke “very earnestly upon politics & the Reform Bill” and indicated that he could not leave London “till the Reform Bill was over.”108 This determination was public knowledge. In April 1832 The Age used Rammohun’s enthusiasm to lampoon parliament’s inability to pass a reform bill (and to mock his religious universalism): The reforming Rajah, Rammohun Roy, attended the whole of the debate in the House of Lords last week, dressed in the costume of his country. Really this changeable Chief is a splendid example of patience! Twelve months ago he was anxious to return to India, but could not think of starting till the Reform Bill had passed; it was rejected,—still was he undaunted, for patiently has he waited ever since: and patiently may he wait, for if he does not take his departure before this Reform Bill become law, there is little prospect of his ever again seeing his grandmother. He, therefore, will have plenty of time while in England to make up his mind, not only on politics, but also on religion, and it is to be hoped that before he leaves us he will make choice of one of the innumerable religions which he has imbibed and recanted with the velocity of a steam-engine.109

When the great act finally passed, Rammohun wrote a letter of congratulations to the Liverpool Unitarian, William Rathbone. The patronizing tone recalls the letter to Ware. Rammohun called on the British to do their patriotic duty by “cherishing public spirit and liberal principles, at the same time banishing bribery, corruption and selfish



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As I publicly avowed that in the event of the Reform Bill being defeated I would renounce my connection with this country, I refrained from writing to you or any other friend in Liverpool until I knew the result. Thank heaven I can now feel proud of being one of your fellow subjects, and heartily rejoice that I have had the infinite happiness of witnessing the salvation of the nation, nay of the whole world.111

If he had had to make good on this threat, it is not obvious what Rammohun might have done. Perhaps he intended to return to territory in India not controlled by the British or—as nationalist commentators in the 1920s suggested—otherwise engage in noncooperation.112 He may have contemplated taking advantage of his fame in the United States, where Unitarians were awaiting him with open arms. France was another possibility. Rammohun had taken an interest in Britain’s chief rival since his association with Digby. Reading the English newspapers had awakened an admiration for Napoleon. Rammohun, Digby wrote, “was so dazzled with the splendour of [Napoleon’s] achievements, as to become sceptical, as to the commission, if not blind to the atrocity, of his crimes, and could not help deeply lamenting his downfall, notwithstanding the profound respect he [Rammohun] ever professed for the English nation.” According to Digby, Rammohun later detested the emperor for his actions leading up to abdication.113 Rammohun served with Digby from 1805 to 1814,114 when the contest between Britain and the French empire was uncertain. Many Britons opposed the long French wars and some were Napoleon admirers; prominent among both groups were Unitarians or those with Unitarian backgrounds. For example, Joseph Priestley—by then transplanted to Pennsylvania—“excitedly” followed news of Napoleon’s exploits.115 The change of views attributed to Rammohun by Digby corresponds with that of Samuel Whitbread, the leading Napoleonist in Commons. Reports of Whitbread’s views may have circulated in Bengal, along with the undisguised admiration for Napoleon at the Whig Club and Holland House.116 It is also possible that Rammohun drew on Indian familiarity with France as the chief European rival of Britain in the subcontinent. No matter the source, Digby was irritated by what was an obvious act of defiance. In 1822 Rammohun had his portrait done by Philippe Savignhac, who belonged to a circle of French artists in Calcutta.117 What influence this community had on Rammohun’s views is not known. Savignhac’s flirtation with Unitarianism may indicate advanced political views. Leaving Restoration France to settle in Calcutta is also suggestive. Savignhac and his circle likely helped bring Rammohun’s Vedanta tracts to the attention of French orientalists. As noted, in the early 1820s these publications circulated in France, as did accounts of him, including one partially penned by Henri Grégoire, the revolutionary bishop and abolitionist.118 Buckingham reported seeing letters from Rammohun to Grégoire on a visit to Paris in 1830, adding that the former bishop was instrumental in spreading Rammohun’s renown in France.119 In 1824 Rammohun was elected an honorary member of the Société Asiatique. He corresponded with at least one prominent French orientalist, Joseph Héliodore Garcin de Tassy, before and after arriving in Britain. His renown led Victor Jacquemont to seek Rammohun out in Calcutta; in a letter Jacquemont described the Bengali as “the most learned of the orientalists.”120



interests, from public proceedings.”110 Had the reform bill not passed, he added that he was prepared to abandon Britain.


All this attention led to a visit to France in the second half of 1832. Little is known of this excursion. Extant letters indicate that he left sometime after July 31, 1832, that he was in Paris by October, and that he returned via Dover before January 31, 1833. According to Lant Carpenter, he was there only a few weeks and was accompanied by John or Joseph Hare, the brothers he lived with on Bedford Square. Garcin de Tassy reported that he arrived in France in the autumn and stayed until January 1833.121 An anonymous account adds details about Rammohun’s hotel in Calais, but little else.122 Rammohun was presented to the king on October 14 and dined with Louis-Philippe more than once. According to the Asiatic Journal, “our brahmin spoke in warm terms of the king’s condescension and kindness.”123 That journal also reported that Rammohun was courted by literary and political figures. This can be confirmed in one case. Eugène Burnouf published a review of the 1832 London edition of Rammohun’s Vedanta and sati essays. This review appeared while Rammohun was in France, suggesting that he brought the volume to give to Burnouf, who helped get Rammohun elected to the Société Asiatique.124 On his return, Rammohun complained that his lack of French made communication impossible. He abandoned the idea of traveling on the continent, but did bring a French tutor back with him.125 Being in France sharpened Rammohun’s political sensibilities. He had been excited by news of the glorious three days of July 1830, which apparently reached him while on route to Britain. On the stopover in Cape Town, Rammohun hastened to visit two French frigates flying the revolutionary tricolor and anchored there. According to James Sutherland, once on board he “endeavoured to convey, by the aid of interpreters, how much he was delighted to be under the banner that waved over their decks,—an evidence of the glorious triumph of right over might: and as he left the vessels he repeated emphatically ‘Glory, glory, glory to France!’ ”126 Such enthusiasm contrasts markedly with Rammohun’s commentary on the British political scene after returning from France. The Whig ministry became a particular object of scorn. According to Sandford Arnot, Rammohun inveighed against it “in the strongest, I may truly say coarsest, terms.” Arnot attributed this to personal animosity, but suggested that Rammohun may have been influenced by his French hosts.127 Lant Carpenter confirmed that Rammohun had turned against the Whigs, “particularly in relation to the Irish Coercion Bill.” Carpenter saw at work the influence of the press and some friends, and he downplayed personal motives.128 Carpenter’s view is substantiated by a letter Rammohun wrote in May 1833. The letter refers to a social gathering attended by Mountstuart Elphinstone, James Mill, and others, where Rammohun declined participating in a discussion of the Irish coercion bill recently introduced by Grey’s government. Rammohun asked the unknown addressee to inform Elphinstone of the reason for his silence: “In justice to my own conscience & feelings I cannot express approbation of the Irish coercion bill & its authors & supporters[.] At the same time for consistency’s sake I feel reluctant to speak ill of those whom I warmly praised for 16 months; that gentleman may judge how far such silence is proper.”129 C. A. Bayly remarks that Rammohun was drawn to Irish affairs while editing Mirat al-Akhbar, when he blamed Irish discontent on British misrule.130 Forcing Irish Catholics to pay for a religion they abhorred and allowing absentee landlords to extort high rents from tenants were the main causes of unrest, according to Rammohun in 1822.131 His opinions were shaped by the Calcutta press. The Calcutta Journal ran numerous articles on Ireland, many of which provided similar analysis of the causes of Irish discontent.



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Some anticipated Rammohun’s 1833 opposition to coercion.132 It is not surprising, then, that Rammohun deprecated a measure giving the authorities in Ireland powers for one year to curtail public meetings and try some offenses by court martial. The fact that this was the first major legislation presented to the reformed parliament surely added to his disappointment.133 A dispute after Rammohun’s death suggests deeper reasons for his discontent. Several obituaries stated that he was a republican. One of these appeared in the Times. Another was penned for the New Monthly Magazine by Robert Montgomery Martin, a not unproblematic source.134 In his death notice, James Silk Buckingham indicated that Rammohun had supported republican institutions in Calcutta, but lacked firmness in his opinions.135 Others disagreed. Arnot objected to suggestions of ultraradicalism. Any possible sympathy for republicanism was limited to Rammohun’s Calcutta years. Experience with arbitrary government in colonial Bengal, not dissatisfaction with the British constitution, explained a theoretical interest in republics. Rammohun, Arnot continued, “may have deemed a republic good in America, but he thought the rule of the citizen King the best adapted for France” and Belgium.136 James Sutherland concurred. Rammohun did not wish republican institutions for Britain. The Bengali reformer admired republicanism in the abstract, and thought that in America it worked well. He had a great partiality for that country, where he had many friends, and which he certainly intended to visit; and I have been informed, that it was resolved to receive him throughout the Union as a national visitor.137

Against such claims, we must note the account of a conversation recorded by an unidentified person in March 1832. According to this report, Rammohun, on hearing monarchy praised, “smiled & said, he did not know what to say to that,” adding that “he could not sympathize with the English in their partiality for it.” The Old Testament, he continued, contained a warning from Jehovah against “choosing a king.”138 Suggestive here is Rammohun’s comment to William Wilberforce that meeting the abolitionist meant more to him than “an introduction to all the Monarchs in Europe.”139 Whether Rammohun was among those dreaming of an English republic will probably never be known. There is little doubt, however, that he had republican sympathies and that these owed something to familiarity with political systems outside the British Isles. Buckingham linked his friend’s republicanism to a speech celebrating the liberal revolution in Portugal.140 Rammohun’s enthusiasm to be on board a ship flying the tricolor suggests French influences as well. Yet all indications point to the United States—that land of religious and political liberty, as Rammohun put it—as crucial to his political thinking. This provides context for his criticisms of British politics. Rammohun had already used the American republic to provincialize England as a laggard nation in the progress toward a purified Christianity. His willingness to renounce Britain should there be no reform act also suggests holding that nation up to a higher standard set by others. Any hopes that a reformed parliament might be a lamp to the world was quickly dashed by the Irish coercion bill. “The reformed Parliament has disappointed the people of England,” Rammohun wrote a month before his death.141 A year before, he had written to William Ellery Channing in Boston that passage of the Reform Act would likely benefit “the whole of the old world,” adding that he planned to travel on the continent and then “visit your Land of Liberty.”142 The critical tone in these letters is





striking. Britain kept on disappointing this Bengali lover of liberty, who looked across the Atlantic for a beacon of hope. One more aspect of Rammohun’s radicalism needs attention. This relates to his mission to Britain on behalf of the Mughal emperor, Akbar II, whom the British recognized as the king of Delhi. This subject has been extensively examined by Brajendra Nath Banerji and J. K. Majumdar. More recently, Michael Fisher has situated Rammohun’s embassy in the larger context of efforts by Indian princes, nobles, scholars, and the like to gain redress of grievances or advance personal agendas through diplomatic missions or private visits to Britain.143 These studies obviate the need for a lengthy discussion here. There is, however, one interesting part of Rammohun’s mission worth more attention. Fisher demonstrates that Rammohun and other Indians learned to negotiate the complex political and social world of nineteenth-century Britain. Tensions between the East India Company and parliament were exploited; opposition politicians and members of parliament wooed or even bribed; favorable newspaper articles, books, and pamphlets written; royal or aristocratic favor courted and used for leverage—these were some of the ways in which Indian diplomats and private visitors pursued their agendas. Rammohun was a pioneer with many of these strategies. For example, he exploited the division of power between the Board of Control and the Court of Directors. Charles Grant, as we have seen, was president of the Board of Control and worked closely with Rammohun on the jury question. They also cooperated on Akbar’s grievances. Again, Rammohun privately commented to Grant on the directors’ proposals and Grant responded favorably.144 Although Rammohun did not gain all that Akbar sought, the measure of success he did obtain was due to what Fisher calls his “warm personal relationship” with Grant.145 Rammohun also tried his hand at another strategy, one apparently taken from the pages of radicalism. Banerji and Fisher note the existence of a privately printed pamphlet detailing the Mughal emperor’s grievances. This was written by Rammohun and submitted to the directors at the onset of his negotiations with them in London. Fisher adds that Rammohun “cannily” indicated to the directors that he had not yet circulated the pamphlet, but would do so if necessary to win popular support. Instead, Rammohun indicated a desire to settle the matter “ ‘quickly and unostentatiously.’ ”146 This threat to go public repays closer examination. In his cover letter to the directors, Rammohun took pains to indicate who exactly had copies of this pamphlet. Other than the one accompanying his letter, the only copies not in his own possession were one he had “placed in the hands of the secretary of the Hon[our]ble Court” and “another submitted to my confidential friend Mr Br[own?] Roberts.”147 The editor of Rammohun’s correspondence was not able to identify Roberts.148 Roberts may have been associated with the London mercantile house, Roberts, Mitchell and Company, which after 1842 became the London agent for Carr, Tagore and Company, cofounded by Dwarkanath Tagore. During Tagore’s visits to Britain in the 1840s, Roberts appeared at his side and contemporary sources described the two as friends.149 It is possible that Rammohun hired Roberts as an agent to assist with his diplomatic negotiations, as with later Indian delegations that hired other Europeans.150 Regardless of Roberts’ exact role, Rammohun’s letter and pamphlet are suggestive of a darker side of British radicalism. Literary blackmail was a prominent feature of British public life in this period. One reason for the seedy reputation of journalists was the lucrative practice of charging suppression or contradiction fees. Unscrupulous figures such as the first John Walter



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grew wealthy wielding this tool. Targets would be privately offered a chance to suppress scandalous news; if they declined, newspaper copy not yet published would be sent to them, with an offer to publish an accompanying contradiction, for a fee.151 At the time of the Queen Caroline affair, such practices became a favorite of ultraradicals. As McCalman demonstrates, muckraking journalists had been recruited early in the Regency period by supporters of Caroline seeking leverage against the prince regent and his brothers. One of these was the “blackmailing hack” Thomas Ashe, who published in 1811 a popular fictionalized account of Caroline and her daughter. Once George became king and divorced Caroline, the ultraradical press unleashed a torrent of satirical and quasipornographic pamphlets and prints detailing the lecherous behavior of the king. Carleton House tried to suppress these, paying £2600 in hush money between 1819 and 1822. After Caroline’s death, the Grub Street reputation for blackmail was kept alive by Ashe and others, who continued to seek suppression fees. Others, such as George Cannon, finding the public appetite whetted for lurid tales and graphic images of scandalous sexual behavior, drifted off into the underground world of pornography.152 Did Rammohun have access to this world? The possibility cannot be ruled out. Literary blackmail was widely practiced against the establishment, of which the East India Company was a member. Rammohun’s letter to the chairman and deputy chairman has the markings of an attempt to extract financial advantage in exchange for keeping information out of the public eye. The careful explanation of who held copies of the not-yet published pamphlet, and the expressed wish to settle matters “quickly and unostentatiously” suggest familiarity with the suppression business. To be sure, Rammohun was not peddling private scandal like the Grub Street hacks. Still, he had information that he thought the Company would prefer to keep out of the public eye, and he tried to use this as leverage. Corroborating evidence exists for this supposition. William Cabell, political secretary in the Board of Control’s office, warned that the Court of Directors thought “too lightly” of what would happen with an appeal to parliament, “fortified as Ram Mohun Roy would be” with evidence presented in his pamphlet “which cannot well be explained away.” Cabell’s recommended negotiating an “amicable” settlement with Rammohun.153 H. H. Wilson testified more directly to Rammohun’s contact with the seamy side of the British press. In December 1833 he wrote to an Indian friend about Rammohun’s financial difficulties, which were compounded (as we saw in the introduction) by Sandford Arnot’s attempted extortion. According to Wilson, Arnot threatened to go public with the claim that he was the real author of all that had been published in Rammohun’s name while in Britain. “In short,” Wilson noted, “Ram Mohun got amongst a low, needy, unprincipled set of people.”154 Arnot, it will be recalled, had served as Buckingham’s assistant editor in Calcutta and then resurfaced in Britain as a hack writer in the pay of the East India Company. Such reversals were common among the more mercenary journalists of the period.155 Arnot claimed that Rammohun employed him for two years starting “from the time of his arrival in Europe as Envoy of the King of Delhi, during which I acted as his secretary.”156 This would explain why Rammohun opened his diplomatic negotiations using a tactic associated with the suppression racket. He had at his side someone from the underworld of British journalism. This remains a conjecture. If the surmise is correct, however, it provides another example of Rammohun’s engagement with British literary and political traditions. The printed page could be used to ridicule or intimidate those seemingly holding the upper hand. Unitarians, radicals, and ultraradicals had perfected this political





tool, some satirizing the sacred ideas, others publicizing the private scandals of the establishment. The circulation of texts and individuals between core and periphery brought Rammohun into contact with these developments. In Bengal, we know that he wielded the power of satire to bring the colonizer down to the level of the colonized; in Britain, it seems he may have employed the black arts of ultraradical journalism against the colonial establishment. The paper bullets of Britain’s outsiders could help advance Indian interests.157 This too was Rammohun’s achievement.



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Rammohun Roy, MP?

Jeremy Bentham was an eccentric person. Few who have seen the Auto-Icon or have had the pleasure, as did this author, of dining with it at University College would doubt this.1 Yet some things that nineteenth-century contemporaries thought odd, or worse, evoke a different response today. “Jerry Bentham’s Cruise”—Byron’s mocking reference to the septuagenarian’s habit of jogging for exercise through St. James’s Park—is an example that comes to mind.2 Bentham’s unpublished views on homosexuality also get a different hearing today than they would have gotten in his own day.3 Bentham was also ahead of his time in suggesting that Rammohun Roy should sit in the House of Commons. The context for this suggestion was the election crisis provoked by the collapse of the first reform bill in 1831 that coincided with Rammohun’s arrival. A group of reformers formed the Parliamentary Candidate Society (PCS) to find suitable candidates and to assist these candidates with fundraising and campaigning. The goal was to elect members who would help pass reform in the new parliament. The PCS was publicly announced in late March 1831. Members included Francis Place, Bentham, John Crawfurd, Sir Francis Burdett, Daniel O’Connell, Thomas Hobhouse, and Joseph Hume (who later resigned). Bentham corresponded with Place regarding the PCS through the middle of April.4 Meanwhile, Rammohun disembarked in Liverpool on April 8 and left for London on April 16.5 Crawfurd had booked rooms for him in Long’s Hotel in Bond Street. Due to a misunderstanding and a late arrival, Rammohun went to a different hotel, found that unsuitable, and then moved on to the Adelphi Hotel where he arrived after 10:00 p.m. Despite the confusion, Bentham—who for years had seldom left his home—found his way to the Adelphi that night and, finding that Rammohun had retired, left him a note.6 Why did the self-described hermit of Queen Square Place take such pains to meet the tired visitor? One possibility was to sound out Rammohun regarding a seat in parliament. According to John Bowring, sometime about then Bentham recommended that the PCS put forward as candidates “Rammohun Roy, as a representative of British India, a half caste, and a negro, in order to subdue the prejudices of colour, and to hold out encouragement and hope to the rest of these races.” 7 This appears in a memoir by Bowring published in the collected works of Bentham that Bowring edited. Bowring’s edition “has attracted little but contempt” since it appeared. One of the first to criticize its incompleteness, poor arrangement of material,



Chapter 9

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Bentham was no respecter of persons among his own species. He had outlived his wish to be taken notice of by lords, and had gone as much into the cosmopolitan extreme. In the excitement of 1831, he busied himself with the formation of a Parliamentary Candidate Society. . . . It is as good as a comedy to hear what candidates he recommended. He was particularly desirous for the nomination of Rammohun Roy, the Hindoo reformer, a half-caste and a negro. It must not be supposed that he sought to put into the Commons’ House any body he was unwilling to see in his own. Here is one of his private dinner parties:—“I should like to invite a Yankee and a Negro, a lord and a beggar, to my table.”9

It seems the cosmopolitan Jeremy Bentham appeared as ridiculous to Empson as did the jogging Jerry Bentham to Byron. Others took Bentham’s suggestion more seriously. An anonymous obituary writer wrote in 1833 that the “Rajah had been frequently urged to offer himself as a candidate” for parliament.10 Joseph Hume may have been one of those doing so. As already discussed, he praised Rammohun in speeches on liberty of the press and favored creating a seat in parliament for Calcutta. Moreover, Hume was one of the initial members of the PCS. Rammohun certainly took the matter under consideration. In April 1832, he wrote to Charles Williams Wynn, asking “whether in Mr. Wynn[’]s opinion R R is eligible to sit in Parliament.” Rammohun indicated that he wished to take a seat for only a few months in order “to pave the way for his countrymen.” Rammohun reminded Williams Wynn of a comment the latter made at a festive dinner about “ ‘R. R. being as much a British subject as any gentleman present’; or words to that effect.” Williams Wynn replied that he needed more details regarding Rammohun’s birth and the extent of British sovereignty in that part of Bengal at the time. “But,” Williams Wynn added, “I conceive generally that any person born within the British Dominions, is a British subject & as such here entitled to all the Privileges of a native of Great Britain.” Rammohun thanked the former president of the Board of Control and indicated he would “seriously reflect” on Williams Wynn’s comments.11 According to our obituary writer, Rammohun decided for the moment not to stand for parliament, but “solely because of the Oaths; he waited only for the passing of the Jew Bill.”12 We will address the matter of religious oaths and Jewish emancipation later. Important for now is Rammohun’s desire to enter parliament. Rammohun may have been influenced by the proposals for colonial representation advanced by Robert Montgomery Martin and Joseph Hume. The comment about paving the way for other Indians suggests this, as do the comments of Prasanna Kumar Tagore discussed in chapter 7. Bentham, however, was interested in more than a seat for Calcutta to help keep the empire intact. Overcoming racial prejudice was on his mind. One of his informants about India was Colonel James Young, who employed phrases such “White Master & black Slave” to describe the relationship between the East India Company and Indians.13 Bentham was no friend to empire either. A recent study argues that he opposed colonialism for good utilitarian reasons, believing that “colonial rulers could not know the subject population’s interests better than the people themselves



and shoddy editing was William Empson, an acquaintance of Bentham who reviewed Bowring’s memoir.8 Empson did not challenge the accuracy of the statement about Rammohun. Instead he added context by deriding Bentham’s suggestion. After addressing Bentham’s eccentric habits—including an incompatible fondness for mice and cats—Empson noted the philosopher’s egalitarianism.

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and therefore could not rule them better than they could rule themselves.” Hence he urged the French and Spanish to give up their colonies.14 The context of Bentham’s suggestion must also be kept in view. The PCS came into being because of a domestic political crisis and its goal was parliamentary reform, not imperial federation. In imagining Rammohun in parliament during the spring of 1831, Bentham’s thoughts were on remaking Britain. An expansive definition of political community, as we shall see, enabled him to envisage the Bengali reformer contributing to that effort. Rammohun interested Bentham for multiple reasons. One probably involved religion. A major complaint of Bowring’s edition is the omission of nearly all of Bentham’s writings on religion. Always interested in the subject, Bentham began writing extensively and radically on religion in 1809. This coincided with a reinvigorated political radicalism. Publications in both areas began to appear in 1817 and those on religion continued until 1824. Two of the latter were published under pen names to avoid prosecution for blasphemy.15 Bentham’s religious writings were part of a larger critique of the established order. He opposed the power of the Church of England, as he did that of the judiciary and an unreformed parliament. Compulsory oaths, penal laws and discrimination against non-Anglicans, prosecution of blasphemers, and an attempted monopoly of formal schooling were examples of the power that Bentham loathed. But his concern was not merely the influential role of the established church. Bentham scholars agree that, read in conjunction with incomplete or suppressed manuscripts, his published works reveal him as an ardent secularist who viewed religion itself as an enemy. Until freed from delusions regarding an unknowable god and afterlife—and from clergy who manipulated fears and superstitions—humanity would never realize its potential for happiness in this world. The principle of utility was at war with the religious impulse, and Bentham wished to see the latter extinguished.16 This suggests little point of contact with the deeply religious Rammohun Roy. Things may not be what they first appear, however. Bentham never published his most radical writings on religion, such as the manuscripts on the four gospels. There he argued that Jesus did not intend to found a religion, but was a political revolutionary using ambiguous language to shield his motives and attract followers.17 What Bentham did express in print was, at times, close to Unitarian positions. His preferred term for Christianity—“the religion of Jesus”18 —echoes what Thomas Jefferson took away from his reading of Joseph Priestley. Bentham used the phrase to distinguish Anglican doctrine from a distinct original: “Church of Englandism is a religion different from the religion of Jesus.”19 Unitarians might have chafed at the idea of two religions, but not a sharp distinction. Few would have minded Bentham’s rejection of the virgin birth, the doctrine of the Trinity, and other orthodox doctrines.20 Bentham took his interest in the religion of Jesus a step further in Not Paul, but Jesus, published in 1823 under the pseudonym of Gamaliel Smith. There are two competing religions in the New Testament, a democratic, egalitarian one created by Jesus and sustained by his apostles, and an ascetic one founded by the ambitious Paul. Beginning with the latter, a contrary spirit took possession of what Jesus had established, and soon despotism “made an instrument of it.” A “noxious” ecclesiastical establishment came into being and with it the “depredation, corruption, oppression, hypocrisy” that have characterized established churches ever since. Those who looked carefully would realize that “in the religion of Jesus may be found all the good ” that is in the New Testament. Removing the “incongruous appendage” of Paul’s teaching would render a “good service” to humanity.21



R AMMOHUN ROY, MP?


James Crimmins sees these last comments as a weak ruse that fooled no one—not even Unitarians—into thinking the author of Not Paul wished to revive the religion of Jesus.22 Comments in the Monthly Repository support this. Besides identifying Bentham as the author, an anonymous reviewer or reviewers decried the work as a deistic screed, a poor example of biblical criticism that discredited its author, at odds with “the truth of the Christian Religion,” and “an attempt to destroy Christianity.”23 Yet not all Unitarians were so harsh. William J. Fox was asked to edit the volume for publication. He declined, indicating that he neither agreed nor disagreed entirely with Bentham’s views.24 Thomas Martin, according to Sarah Austin a “great enthusiast . . . about Not Paul,” sought an introduction to Bentham so that he could clarify some dates “likely to be useful in the warfare commenced against Paul.” A former pupil of Joseph Priestley, Martin was described by Austin as one who “wishes no good” to the established church.25 Thomas Wright Hill was also receptive, if guardedly so. Hill got his start as an educator under Priestley’s guidance. One of Hill’s institutions was Hazelwood School, which Bentham avidly supported.26 Gamaliel Smith’s book drew these comments from Hill: I have been much amused, interested and I will add instructed by a work entitled “Not Paul but Jesus” written by an able fellow of whom it is whispered you know something more than the generality of readers—I never before saw half so far into the nature and value of internal evidence, and can not conceal my fears that should such a course of criticism be followed ad extremum, more negations might be established than Mr Gamaliel Smith professes to have in sight—I have however gone through the book only once. A second reading . . . may lead me further into the author’s views.27

Not Paul did not make Bentham persona non grata among Rational Dissenters. In fact, he had many Unitarian contacts and associates. In 1818 he exchanged letters with William Smith regarding the 1813 Trinity Act.28 Sarah Austin was only one of the Norwich Taylors who enjoyed a close relationship with Bentham.29 The Birmingham radical Joseph Parkes addressed some of his letters “One of the Disciples to Jeremy Bentham.” In 1824 Parkes married Elizabeth Priestley, granddaughter of Joseph; their daughter Bessie Rayner Parkes became an early feminist. Joesph Parkes shared Bentham’s views on judicial reform, the colonies, and kill-joy Calvinists. The two took pleasure in using religious phrases or images ironically.30 When Bentham founded the Westminster Review in 1823–1824, he named as its first editors two Unitarians, John Bowring and Henry Southern.31 Lucy Aikin—who never met Bentham but read nearly all of his theological works—may have spoken for many Unitarians when she stated that there was “no hint of atheism in [Bentham’s] theological works,” only plenty of “logical and critical acuteness.”32 John Colls adds to this picture of a cozy relationship. Colls was Bentham’s amanuensis from 1816 until 1829, when he began studying for the Anglican clergy. In 1844 he let loose on the latter’s hostility to the established church and friendliness to Unitarians. However strong his former employer’s hatred of lawyers may have been, Colls wrote, Bentham’s “antipathy to Clergymen was immeasurably greater—Clergymen, I mean of the Church of England;—not Unitarians, Socinians, and similar teachers, whom he presumed to have no principles at all, or to be staunch admirers of his favourite ‘voluntary system’! Towards such as these he was more tolerant.”33 The best known of Bentham’s Unitarian intimates is probably John Bowring. Like Sarah Austin, Bowring belonged to a prominent provincial Unitarian family. Lant



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Carpenter was his minister in Exeter. In London, Bowring worshipped at Robert Aspland’s Old Gravel Pit Meeting House and took a lively interest in Unitarian religious and political causes. Bowring served on the executive committee of Aspland’s congregation and helped found the Non-Con Club (1817) and the Unitarian Association (1819). In 1827 he published an open letter calling for repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts. Bowring also served as foreign secretary to the Peace Society and to the British and Foreign Unitarian Association. Bentham and Bowring met in 1820, and soon after Bowring had joined the inner circle at Queen Square Place. The two collaborated on various projects, notably the London Greek Committee and the Westminster Review beginning in 1823 and 1824, respectively. During this period Bentham joined the Peace Society at Bowring’s prompting. Bentham tried to get Bowring a professorship at London University, and in 1827 Bowring’s family moved into Queen Square Place. Bentham eventually named the Unitarian his literary executor. Others in Bentham’s circle were unhappy with the relationship. Bowring was accused of being a toady, flatterer, and jobber. Many thought he took advantage of the aging utilitarian. Disputes continue whether Bowring can be considered a Benthamite. All agree, however, that he was a resolute Unitarian and very close to Bentham in the last decade of the latter’s life.34 In a letter to Rammohun, Bentham testified to this last point: “Bowring, with whom you have corresponded, is now living with me. He is the most intimate friend I have: the most influential, as well as ardent man I know, in the endeavour at everything that is most serviceable to mankind.”35 The correspondence alluded to here has not survived.36 Records of contact between Bowring and Rammohun in London do exist, however. As already noted, Bowring welcomed the Bengali to the annual meeting of the Unitarian Association in May 1831 with gushing praise.37 Surviving letters suggest Rammohun considered Bowring a friend. They also indicate that Bowring was an intermediary between Rammohun and Bentham, as he was for other visitors to the hermit of Queen Square Place.38 What ideas Bowring gave Bentham about Rammohun will likely never be known. In 1861 Bowring wrote that he did not believe that Rammohun was a Christian because he doubted that the Bengali believed in the resurrection. The Precepts of Jesus offered “beautiful testimony” to Rammohun’s admiration for the messiah, but Rammohun did not sever his ties with brahmanism. Bowring did note that Rammohun “naturally found his sympathies drawing him more closely to the Unitarian than to any other religious body.” He also indicated that while attending a Brahmo Samaj service in Calcutta, “I saw nothing and heard nothing to which a believer in the unity of God would object.”39 If this depiction of Rammohun as a Hindu Unitarian accords with Bowring’s views when Rammohun arrived in London, the evidence is hard to come by. The resolution he moved at the Unitarian’s annual meeting in May 1831 does not explicitly address Rammohun’s religious identity. The spirit of the occasion makes it difficult to imagine, however, that Bowring would have introduced his motion with such enthusiasm if he had believed then what he did later. It is also unlikely that what Bowring told Bentham would have differed materially from what he expressed at the May 1831 meeting. Bentham wrote to Rammohun that he admired one of his books that, “but for the name of an Hindoo, I should have ascribed to the pen of a superiorly well-educated and instructed Englishman.”40 The editors of Bentham’s correspondence note that it is impossible to determine to which of Rammohun’s works he was referring. Given Bowring’s influence, the circle of Unitarian associates, and Bentham’s interest in the religion of Jesus, it is possible that one of the Appeals was the work in question. The



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reference to being a Hindu seems to speak against the Appeals, although Bentham may have meant by this an ethnic identity. As will become clear, there is excellent reason to believe that Bentham considered Rammohun a Christian Unitarian in a crucial legal sense. Religion was not all that attracted Bentham to Rammohun. In the last two decades of his life, constitutional codes and a free press consumed Bentham’s time and energy. His attention was directed abroad, as he discovered or recruited foreign disciples interested in implementing constitutional codes inspired or authored by him. Since maximum publicity of governmental action was central to his idea of a sound constitution, Bentham was keen on spreading liberty of the press across the world. The list of correspondents and visitors in contact with Bentham about these matters demonstrates why he was dubbed “legislator of the world.” They include a Russian czar and an American president, liberals in Spain and Portugal, Polish and Greek nationalists, an emissary and reformer from Tripoli, and Latin American revolutionaries and legislators.41 Bentham’s goal, as he wrote a Russian correspondent, was “bettering this wicked world, by covering it over with Republics.”42 For this, he needed an army of assistants. Interestingly enough, Bentham was good at attracting military officers to his cause.43 One of these was Leicester Stanhope, the colonel inspired by visions of emancipating the world from despotism through the printing press. Stanhope met Bentham in May 1823 and declared himself a disciple. Both were members of the London Greek Committee and when Stanhope went to Greece on behalf of the committee, Bentham used him as an emissary. Stanhope carried a manuscript copy of Bentham’s Constitutional Code, supplied Bentham with information, and served as liaison with Byron and Greek leaders. The “Typographical Colonel” also tried to establish Greek newspapers and encouraged educational ventures favored by the utiliarian. In the prospectus for one of his newspapers, Stanhope used an excerpt from Bentham.44 Stanhope also introduced James Young to Bentham in 1823. Like Stanhope, Colonel Young was former secretary to Governor-General Hastings and now a radical supporter of Bentham. Young’s Benthamite essay on India published in 1825 in the Westminster Review was examined in chapter 6. Young also provided Bentham with material related to military law and courts martial that Bentham incorporated into his Constitutional Code.45 In 1826 Young returned to Bengal, and Bentham relied on the colonel as his agent there. Their relationship became similar to the one Bentham enjoyed with Colonel Francis Hall in Colombia. Bentham sent both men copies of his work for distribution to government officials and local people of influence. He hoped Young and Hall would play a role in introducing his panopticon scheme for prisons in Bengal and Colombia. In Young’s case, Bentham considered the colonel as the ideal manager for the project. Bentham also encouraged Young and Hall in their political and journalistic activities.46 Through these three colonels, Bentham hoped to see his ideas implemented in Greece, Bengal, and Colombia. This is the context for Bentham’s initial contact with Rammohun Roy. When he first wrote to the Bengali reformer in late 1827/early 1828, Bentham listed Stanhope and Young as two of their mutual friends. The letter refers to James Mill as a disciple at India House and mentions several writings on judicial reform, codification, and panopticon that Bentham was sending along for Rammohun’s benefit. Bentham also encouraged Rammohun to explore a partnership with Young for building a panopticon prison. In a separate letter to William Bentinck, newly appointed as governor-general, Bentham recommended Young as the person to manage



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the panopticon project in India and Rammohun as one who could accommodate “the business to the prejudices of the people of his race.”47 Bentham’s letter to Rammohun also mentions his Guatemalan contact, José del Valle. The latter had written to Bentham in 1826, flattering the utilitarian with the appellation “Legislador del mundo.” Valle played a significant role in the independence movement of Central America and was influential in the politics of the Federal Republic of Central America. In his initial letter, Valle asked Bentham for help in drafting a constitutional code for the republic. Bentham responded by sending hundreds of pages of his writings on codification. Later he transmitted to Valle his ideas and writings about liberty of the press, education, and the like. Bentham was impressed with Valle’s work, describing the Guatemalan as “a rising Sun, by whom, from it’s center, all late Spanish America will, if he lives, be illuminated.”48 This makes all the more interesting the reference to the republican in his letter to Rammohun, where Bentham wrote that Valle “is the instructor of his country; such an one as you of yours.” Bentham also offered to pass on to Valle any writings that Rammohun might wish to send him, adding that “[y]ours and his are kindred souls.”49 Obviously, Bentham saw Rammohun as a potential disciple—he liked such religious language—who could help cover the world with panopticons, constitutional codes, and maybe even republics like the one in Central America. Where he got this idea is not immediately apparent. Rammohun did not contact Bentham, as Valle did, expressing interest in codification or prison reform. Stanhope and Young must have given the utilitarian some reason to believe the Bengali useful for his plans, although the surviving record leaves this uncertain. The best clue is found in Bentham’s letter to Rammohun, where he mentioned a third “excellent” friend that they shared besides Stanhope and Young. This was James Silk Buckingham.50 Buckingham’s expulsion from India brought the Bengali reformer to Bentham’s attention on a matter of intense interest. Jürgen Habermas long ago pointed out that Bentham was a pioneering theorist on the role of publicity in politics. Bentham scholars have built on this, concentrating on his political theory as it evolved in the 1820s. Increasingly democratic in outlook, Bentham believed that the best means of ensuring rational obedience to laws is to maximize the publicity surrounding the creation and enforcement of laws. Public discussion is also important as an expression of the interests and judgments of the people on public matters. Popular sovereignty, in a word, requires that governments be held accountable to public opinion. Bentham used a fictive entity—the public opinion tribunal—to describe the quasi-judicial role of public opinion. This tribunal provided the best security against abuse of power by bringing the moral sanction of public judgment to bear on government. The tribunal was comprised of all members of society and could express its judgment in multiple ways, such as public meetings, printed works, and theater performances. Freedom of discussion and liberty of the press were essential to its functioning. Without these, there could be no real accountability, no proper opportunity for the public to communicate its interest to government or render its judgment on political affairs.51 Bentham thought his theory applied to nondemocratic societies as well. In fact, he developed his ideas with particular clarity in a manuscript constitutional charter for the pasha of Tripoli. This and related documents were drafted in 1822–1823 and published later by Bowring under the title Securities against Misrule, Adapted to a Mahommedan State.52 Bentham was prodded into writing these works through his contacts with Hassuna D’Ghies, a Tripolitan in Britain on a diplomatic mission from the pasha. The two collaborated on several projects related to D’Ghies’ homeland. One involved



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inducing the pasha to convene a representative body and adopt the provisions that Bentham outlined in Securities. Should this prove unworkable, D’Ghies and Bentham plotted an armed insurrection that was to be supported by an invasion of British mercenaries led by Colonel Robert Torrens (another military man drawn to Bentham). The idea was to depose the pasha and create a government based on Bentham’s principles. Eventually, Bentham dropped the scheme in favor of approaching the United States for military assistance.53 Bentham meant it when he said he wanted to cover the globe with republics. Nothing came of these plans, other than the Securities manuscripts. In these, Bentham expanded on his idea that publicity was the best check against misrule by pointing out that under arbitrary governments public opinion was the “sole remedy” available.54 This led to a close analysis of the public opinion tribunal. It comprised all members of a community, including women and the illiterate. Only parts of the community—delegated committees, so to speak—were active at any given moment, using speeches or publications to convey the public’s judgment. There were many possible manifestations of these delegated committees, including political assemblies, public meetings, and occasional publications. But newspapers were “the only constantly acting visible” instance of the public opinion tribunal at work. Political editors—the only ones “in constant activity”—were “the most conspicuous” functionaries of the public opinion tribunal. This is why in representative democracies editors were second only to prime ministers in political importance.55 Bentham used an interesting example to explore the membership of public opinion tribunals. The tribunal for the British empire consisted not only of “the inhabitants of the two Islands but the inhabitants of the several distant dependencies in the once four quarters, now five great portions, of the globe.” This was written in late 1822.56 A few months later, Buckingham was expelled from India and by June 1823 he was in Britain. His case, as Bentham noted, filled the newspapers that summer.57 The ensuing years witnessed debates in Commons and the Court of Proprietors, a privy council hearing, a parliamentary committee report, a public subscription campaign, and endless reporting in the periodical press. Rammohun was brought into this public debate in ways suggestive of a political community reaching beyond the British Isles. As chapter 6 revealed, Rammohun’s memorial to the Supreme Court and petition to the privy council were cited by supporters of Buckingham, who printed these in the Oriental Herald, along with mention of Rammohun’s role in drafting them. Both documents raised issues in line with Bentham’s conception of the role of publicity and public opinion in politics. For instance, Rammohun indicated the importance of the press in making known to the government the grievances of Indians and exposing administrative mismanagement.58 The privy council petition forcefully stressed the role of the press in checking misconduct through scrutiny of East India Company officials. The press regulations of 1823, Rammohun added, were designed to provide those functionaries with “complete immunity from censure or exposure.”59 Accountability, as Bentham would have put it, was what the Company wished to avoid. Bentham likely saw Rammohun as one of those political editors vital to the functioning of the public opinion tribunal. The memorial and petition exemplify the quasi-judicial function Bentham envisaged the tribunal filling. Both were instances of a delegated committee standing forth to represent public opinion and censure the government. Closing the Mirat al-Akhbar as a political protest would not have been lost on Bentham either. It is probable that Bentham had considerable information about Rammohun’s editorship of the Samvada Kaumudi. Buckingham would have been pivotal here. Following a pattern



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of supporting radical editors such as Richard Carlile, William Hone, and T. J. Wooler,60 Bentham became deeply involved with Buckingham’s case. Bentham may have helped arrange for Thomas Denman to handle legal issues for Buckingham; he sought the assistance of editors in publicizing Buckingham’s claims; he provided financial assistance when Buckingham was needy and invested in one of Buckingham’s ventures; he lobbied on Buckingham’s behalf with influential figures such as Sir Francis Burdett and Robert Peel; and he tried to recruit Buckingham for a seat in parliament, even arranging for Buckingham to practice giving speeches before James Mill and others.61 This intense relationship with a radical journalist from Calcutta—one so closely associated with Rammohun’s journalistic ventures—must have added something to Bentham’s understanding of Rammohun as a political editor. These circumstances provide the best explanation for why, in late 1827/early 1828, Bentham thought Rammohun a potential disciple.62 Rammohun wrote like a Benthamite in defending newspaper scrutiny of Company administration. His protests against the 1823 regulations exemplified the public opinion tribunal at work. Buckingham’s familiarity with Rammohun’s journalism and political views likely added to Bentham’s sympathetic perception of the Bengali. When Bentham wrote to Rammohun that he deeply admired one of his books and could have mistaken it for the work of a well-educated Briton,63 he might have meant the memorial to the Supreme Court or the petition to the privy council. It is more likely that Bentham had some other work in mind, since neither of those documents was a book or had a title page on which Rammohun’s name appeared. Nonetheless, Bentham probably thought he could recruit Rammohun for his global republican project because Buckingham helped him see the Bengali as a radical journalist. This may be why Bentham proposed Rammohun as a candidate for parliament in 1831. In 1823 he had encouraged Buckingham to stand for a Westminster seat,64 so putting a political journalist in parliament was already on Bentham’s mind. According to the expansive definition of the imperial political community he used in his Tripoli writings, Rammohun was not a mere colonial subject, but member of the British public opinion tribunal. Alongside the tribunal, the Commons was an important check on misrule in Bentham’s view. It was logical for him to think that prominent editors such as Rammohun—and Buckingham—should be in Commons, since they had already proved themselves active in exercising the censorial function of the tribunal. Unfortunately, this must remain a speculation, since there is little evidence regarding Bentham’s motives for nominating Rammohun to the PCS. We can be more certain that Bentham thought Rammohun a Christian like the Unitarian admirers who visited or corresponded with him at Queen Square Place. This is a safe deduction, given the concluding words to the oath of abjuration required of all members entering parliament. Those words were “upon the true faith of a Christian.”65 As we saw in chapter 1, these words were on the public’s mind in the period just before the PCS was founded. Repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts in 1828 and Catholic emancipation the following year had left Jews as the last significant religious group of Britons officially excluded from office. The concluding words of the abjuration oath were responsible for this, and so the first Jewish emancipation campaign was launched in 1829–1830 aimed at removing those words from oaths of office. Among those aiding the effort were Unitarians; John Bowring served as a liaison with Jewish leaders. This first emancipation campaign ended with the defeat of a parliamentary bill in May 1830.66 Bentham could hardly have overlooked the abjuration oath when he proposed that Rammohun stand for parliament. His closest associate in 1831 was Bowring. Moreover, Bentham had written against using religious oaths in public affairs. In “Swear Not at



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All” (1813, 1817) and other works, Bentham argued that such oaths either served no use or had mischievous results. Oxford students daily perjured themselves by violating oaths that no one took seriously. Oaths kept trustworthy individuals such as Quakers from serving on juries. There were practical difficulties with the ceremonies for nonChristians. Oaths also served the political interests of the establishment by discouraging reform and keeping the universities closed to dissident groups.67 Bentham was also not uninterested in the situation of Jews. Lea Campos Boralevi argues that, despite antipathy to Polish Jews, Bentham published works defending Jews and demonstrating familiarity with the history of English anti-Semitism.68 Surely, he was not oblivious to the 1829–1830 campaign. There can be only one conclusion. If Bentham was serious in proposing Rammohun for parliament in the spring of 1831, he assumed that the Bengali could take the required oath. But did Rammohun think so? As earlier chapters demonstrate, Rammohun’s engagement with Unitarianism convinced many contemporaries on both sides of the Atlantic that he was a Christian. Whether or not this constituted a conversion is examined in appendix A. The answer offered there is that Rammohun’s religious universalism and the expansive conception of Christianity held by key Unitarians rendered conversion an inessential matter. Ambiguity, however, was not an option for a seat in Commons as it was for a bench in a Unitarian chapel. To enter parliament, Rammohun would have had to make a public confession of faith. As noted above, there are two bits of evidence regarding his willingness to do so. These appear at odds. One is the 1832 correspondence with Charles Williams Wynn. In his letters Rammohun indicated a clear interest in sitting in Commons at least for a few months. There is not even a hint that he was concerned about the abjuration oath. In his reply, Williams Wynn does not mention oaths. Instead, he saw Rammohun’s eligibility resting solely on the question of whether he was born in British territory. This exchange took place two years after the first Jewish campaign had ended in failure and a year before the second one would meet the same fate.69 This provides important context for our second bit of evidence. This is the comment by the anonymous obituary writer who stated that the only thing keeping Rammohun from standing for parliament was the oath question, which Rammohun hoped would be resolved by the Jewish campaign. Supporting this claim is an 1833 satirical letter to the editor written in Rammohun’s name. In it Rammohun is made to say that “Jews are about to be admitted into the pale of the Constitution, and why not the followers of Brama, Vishnu, and Bhood?”70 How should we evaluate this conflicting evidence? The obituary author had confused notions of Rammohun’s religious activities and an obvious axe to grind. (S)he stated that studying Hebrew Scriptures did not make Rammohun a Christian; that although the Bengali had turned two Baptist missionaries into anti-Trinitarians, he was not “a decided or prejudiced Unitarian”; and that Rammohun had intended in Calcutta “to adopt Wesylan Worship.” The author also took pleasure in the collapse of the Calcutta Unitarian congregation.71 No friend to Unitarians, the obituary writer would not have been in Bentham’s camp on the oath question. Then there are Rammohun’s letters, written between the first two Jewish campaigns. Would he have inquired about sitting in parliament without mentioning the oath, which those campaigns were all about? It is possible that he distinguished the eligibility and oath-taking issues, trusting that the second Jewish emancipation campaign would remove the latter. This answer is plausible and will satisfy those who believe Rammohun never embraced Christianity. This interpretation appears to gain support by considering the legal ramifications in Bengal of an open avowal of Christianity. Apostasy was punished under Hindu



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and Islamic law by loss of inheritance rights.72 Rammohun had endured a series of bitter legal disputes with his mother and extended family over inherited property. Early commentators thought his mother sought to use existing Hindu law “to disinherit [Rammohun] as an apostate and infidel.”73 Modern scholars disagree. His mother was behind the most significant lawsuit, but the issue was Rammohun’s refusal to subsidize the image worship to which she was devoted. This was in keeping with Rammohun’s Vedanta. Although Rammohun won these cases, they proved costly, both to his pocketbook and his spirits, if not health.74 This probably contributed to his reluctance to break caste while in Britain. As noted in appendix A, Unitarian supporters thought that Rammohun needed to keep caste in order to retain influence back in Bengal. Some thought that he was also worried about losing his property and cited his legal difficulties in Bengal as evidence. According to Lant Carpenter, Rammohun said that the law suits against him were “instituted for the purpose of depriving him of caste, and thereby of his patrimonial inheritance.” 75 Even if Carpenter misunderstood things, there is reason to believe that Rammohun had financial motive for not wishing to swear publicly in the House of Commons that he was a true Christian. This is not the last word on the subject, however. Missionaries were unhappy with the legal situation of converts under local inheritance laws. In a May 1829 petition to the Bengal government regarding sati, missionaries included a request that this be rectified. Two years later, Sir Edward Hyde East did the same in a paper submitted to a Lords select committee. In a February 1831 dispatch directing the Bengal government to ameliorate the disabilities suffered by Indian Christians, the Court of Directors cited East’s suggestion that the law ought to be that no one suffered loss of property or other rights for the profession of any religion. The Bengal authorities responded in January 1832 with what became a clause in regulation VII of 1832. “[J]udiciously veiled in ambiguous language to avoid opposition,” this clause was “calculated to protect the rights of Christian converts.” 76 The new regulation would become a dead letter and the whole matter was revived amid considerable controversy the following decade.77 Still, there remains a good possibility that Rammohun was aware of these developments as they transpired. Preceding chapters have examined Rammohun’s close relationship with Charles Grant, who, as president of the Board of Control, had final authority for official correspondence to India. Grant could have kept Rammohun abreast of the 1831 dispatch to India and the proposed new regulation contained in the January 1832 dispatch from Bengal. The latter would have arrived in London after Rammohun’s April 1832 inquiry to Williams Wynn regarding a seat in Commons. But he could have known by then of the order from London that the property rights of converts be protected. Hence, it cannot be assumed that the abjuration oath was out of the question for Rammohun. Relevant here as well is the political climate in 1832. Rammohun wrote to Williams Wynn just after Commons had passed a third reform bill in March. As we saw in the last chapter, Rammohun was passionately interested in parliamentary reform. His interest may have been heightened by the likelihood of a parliamentary seat. Passage of a reform bill would create new constituencies where prominent reformers would undoubtedly have an edge among newly enfranchised voters. This is what happened in Sheffield with the return of James Silk Buckingham in 1832. Unitarians were also drawn in disproportionately large numbers into the reformed Commons. Bowring, for example, tried to win a seat in the first election after reform, but had to wait until the general election of 1835 to enter parliament. Once there, he noted that there were fourteen Dissenters in Commons and thirteen of these were Unitarians.78 Such favorable odds for reformers and Unitarians may have led Rammohun to ask himself if it would be so difficult to



R AMMOHUN ROY, MP?


state, as Thomas Jefferson had, that he was a true Christian, meaning a follower of the precepts of Jesus. After all, this is what he had implied in the Second Appeal and Final Appeal. In the end, this is all speculation. What is known are these sparse facts. Bentham proposed that Rammohun stand for parliament in 1831. Rammohun asked Williams Wynn in April 1832 about his eligibility to sit in Commons. And in late 1833 an anonymous individual wrote that Rammohun was encouraged by many to stand for a seat, but had not done so because of the oath question, which he hoped the Jewish campaign(s) would remove. At the very least, the idea of an Indian MP was in the air at that critical moment when the confessional state began unraveling and parliamentary reform finally became a reality. It would be left to the Victorians to turn the idea into a reality. Robert Jenkinson, the second earl of Liverpool and Tory prime minister, had an Indian great-grandmother, but, as Michael Fisher demonstrates, the first Commons member of recognizably Indian descent was D. O. Dyce Sombre. A Christian of mixed Indian (3/8th) and European (5/8th) heritage, Dyce Sombre served in parliament for nine months in 1841–1842. His election was challenged on two accounts: he was not a British subject—because he was born in an independent princely state and had never naturalized—and he had bribed voters. The first charge was never investigated because the second one was easy to prove. Dyce Sombre’s parliamentary career was thus brief and marked by controversy.79 His religious identity also rendered moot any questions regarding the oath of abjuration. The issue was still in the air, however. Dwarkanath Tagore had a conversation in 1845 or 1846 with William Gladstone on the subject of electing Indians to parliament. Gladstone emphasized that the oath kept non-Christians from taking a seat in Commons. Undoubtedly aware of Rammohun’s embrace of Unitarianism—and Tagore’s leanings in the same direction—Gladstone added that only those who believed that Jesus is “the Son of God” could claim to be a Christian. Tagore argued that a Hindu professing belief in a Supreme Being was no less qualified to sit in parliament than someone convinced of the deity of Jesus.80 Tagore eventually won this argument. In the 1850s reformers continued to press the desirability of having Indians of the caliber of Rammohun or Tagore in parliament when important matters pertaining to the subcontinent were under discussion.81 The Jewish emancipation campaigns led in 1858–1860 and 1866 first to omission, and then elimination of the words “upon the true faith of a Christian” from the parliamentary oath of office.82 This opened the door for Dadabhai Naoroji, who was returned to parliament in 1892 for Central Finsbury. Naoroji had tried once before, but lost as the Liberal candidate in conservative Holborn. This attempt prompted Lord Salisbury to utter his infamous comment that things had not yet come to the point “where a British constituency would elect a black man.” A few years later, the liberal and radical voters of Central Finsbury proved the conservative prime minister wrong, vindicating the support given to Naoroji by British friends who had encouraged him to stand again.83 Here too, Rammohun—with a little help from his radical friends—was a pioneer.



162

A Fitting Statue on College Green

In November 1997, the Bristol City Council unveiled a statue of Rammohun Roy to mark the golden anniversary of Indian independence. The eight and a half foot statue stands near Council House on College Green and is aligned with that of Queen Victoria standing in front of a prominent hotel several hundred meters away. When one faces the statue of Rammohun, Bristol Cathedral serves as backdrop (see epilogue figure 1). The sculptor was Niranjan Pradhan of Calcutta, who had previously created a bust of Rammohun that sits inside of Council House. In an interview Pradhan indicated that the design of his statue follows H. P. Brigg’s 1832 portrait (see figure 3.2). He noted that expatriate Indians and British admirers had been pushing for a full-size statue and, because Rammohun died there, Bristol was the “natural place to put it.”1 Not everyone agreed. In 2003 George Croft wrote a letter to the Bristol Evening Post complaining about the statue. A recent arrival in Bristol and self-described amateur historian, Croft had explored the city’s history. He was dismayed to discover that the statue of Cary Grant—a native son—was tucked away in what he thought an inconspicuous spot, while that of Rammohun was “positioned in splendour” near the Council House. Since he had never heard of the Bengali, Croft did some research and discovered that Rammohun had accomplished much in India—such as help abolish sati—and was regarded as an early nationalist and founding figure in that land. But Rammohun had done nothing for Bristol and was merely visiting when he died. Why then, Croft asked, a large statue that “dwarfs” those of Grant, Victoria, and I. K. Brunel (engineer of the Clifton suspension bridge)? The answer, he thought, was political correctness on the part of the Labour council. Croft asked if it might be possible to replace the statue of Rammohun with that of Grant and move the former to a Bristol neighborhood “where the Asian community can honour him . . . He is their hero, after all.”2 A defender of the statue responded. The statue was a gift funded by Indians. It was not the Labour council, but the city’s planning officer who consented to placing it on College Green at the request of the organization, Communities for a Greater Bristol. Pradhan’s statue does not dwarf that of Victoria, which lies a good distance away, while those of Brunel and Grant are not even within sight. The comparison to Grant was meaningless, and the suggestion to move Rammohun’s statue “offensive and narrowminded.” If only those who were born or lived in Bristol deserved memorial sculptures,



Epilogue


Epilogue Figure 1 Statue of Rammohun Roy by Niranjan Pradhan, College Green, Bristol. Photograph by author.


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why then the ones of Brunel and Neptune? The fact is, Rammohun was an inspiration to Bristol’s own Mary Carpenter, a great social reformer. If Croft would read some more, he would realize that Rammohun was also a “builder of bridges between races and religions,” an advocate of women’s rights, and “a man of courage, generosity and wide humanity.” It was fitting to honor him with this statue and location.3 Croft’s critic did a service by correcting misconceptions surrounding the statue’s creation and location. It was also helpful to highlight Rammohun’s contributions and virtues. One could quibble with the idea that Rammohun built bridges between religions: what do we make of the Ram Doss letters, where he mocked what the great majority of Christians over the ages have believed, placing Trinitarianism on a par with the “gross absurdities” of a popular Hinduism that he also rejected?4 There is something ironic about this statue near a sacred building officially known as the Cathedral Church of the Holy and Undivided Trinity.5 And a case could be made that in the context of the early nineteenth-century global community, Rammohun was the international celebrity that Cary Grant was in the twentieth century. The dispute between Croft and his critic revolves around Rammohun’s significance for British history. Croft has a point that the Bengali was an accidental Bristolian and his conclusions about Rammohun’s contributions to modern India are accurate. The idea, however, that Rammohun is the hero of South Asians, but not Britons, is problematic. Joel Lewis wrote that this is patronizing, “smacks of cultural segregation,” and is no less offensive than the idea that “only Black people [can] appreciate the achievements of Martin Luther King.”6 It also evokes a sense of national identity that undervalues the contributions of South Asians to modern Britain. This contribution has been the subject of a growing number of scholarly works.7 There is not space here to summarize this body of literature. What this book should make clear, however, is that Rammohun Roy belongs to the story of modern Britain. Groups and individuals fashioning the Victorian age lionized him because he shared their vision and contributed intellectually to their causes. Unitarians, leading the assault on the confessional state, lauded Rammohun for a defense of rational religion that placed him in the company of Locke, Newton, and Milton. Advocates of liberty of the press employed his example in India to fight the good fight at home. Propagandists for competing visions of empire did the same, holding Rammohun up as proof of the benefits of free trade or as a voice of caution against rash innovations. He gave a boost to humanitarians struggling to awaken the national conscience. Where early feminists gathered, admirers of Rammohun were likely to be found. Out to destroy the English establishment and transform the world into a republican paradise, Jeremy Bentham dreamt of Rammohun in parliament and as collaborator in his global network of radical reformers. For his part, Rammohun added to a rich satirical tradition stretching back to Alexander Pope, threw his support behind parliamentary reform with the enthusiasm of a zealot, and inspired Britons to imagine a multiethnic House of Commons. Rammohun Roy certainly deserves a memorial statue in Britain. Why not in a prominent place in the city in which he died and is buried?



A FITTING STATUE ON COLLEGE GREEN




Half a Christian?

Chapters 2 and 3 demonstrate that Rammohun profoundly engaged the discourse of Rational Dissent in the early 1820s. He endorsed the expansive definition of Christianity advanced by Unitarians, who responded by proclaiming him their trophy. And not without reason. In April 1826 Rammohun and William Adam discussed Christianity with London Missionary Society missionaries Daniel Tyerman and George Bennet. At one point, Rammohun asked the two “whether we thought him a Christian.” Considering him “a pretty consistent Socinian”—albeit with some views “peculiarly his own”—Tyerman and Bennet replied in the negative. To this, they claimed, Rammohun responded: “ ‘Will you not allow me to be half a Christian?’ ” This drew another no, although the orthodox missionaries conceded that Rammohun was “perfectly skilled in the tactics of Socinian controversy, and defended himself and his notions with as much ability and discretion as any person of similar tenets whom we have encountered.”1 Doubts have been raised on this score that are also supported by recorded comments. In 1830 Rammohun helped Scottish missionary Alexander Duff open a school that had mandatory Bible readings. Indian pupils balked at this until Rammohun intervened, telling them that he had read the Qur’an and asking “has that made me a Mussalman? Nay, [and] I have studied the whole Bible, and you know I am not a Christian.”2 Such evidence has led some to argue that Rammohun either never converted or had only a temporary interest in Unitarianism, returning to his Vedanta roots after 1828 when he founded the Brahmo Samaj.3 Others suggest that Unitarianism was an important stage—one that took him beyond the Hindu tradition—but not the final resting place in a religious journey that culminated in Brahmo universalism.4 These arguments have merit. Rammohun’s withdrawal of support from William Adam and the Calcutta Unitarian Committee points to a parting of religious ways, as Rammohun could not subscribe to Adam’s Christian focus.5 Also telling is the response of David Reed in Boston. Reed shared Adam’s interest in promoting Unitarian Christianity and welcomed Rammohun’s assistance in that effort, which he believed merited him the title of Christian.6 In 1828 Reed published the first complete American edition of the Precepts and three Appeals, proclaiming repeatedly in his weekly paper that the Final Appeal placed Rammohun in “the very first rank of Christian Theologians.” He also published that year two letters challenging orthodox clergy who denied that the Bengali was a Christian.7 In 1829, however, Reed struck a very different tone while describing



Appendix A


the breakup of Calcutta Unitarianism. The celebrated Bengali, he now suggested, was a Hindu Unitarian, denying even that Rammohun was ever known to be a Christian. The new ad that Reed ran for his edition of Rammohun’s works is also revealing. The volume was now offered “merely as a curiosity” available at a reduced price.8 Over the succeeding years, Reed continued to devote space in the Christian Register to Rammohun, including claims by other Unitarians that the famous Bengali was a Christian.9 The Bostonian remained, however, of a different mind. After Rammohun’s death, Reed described him as a “noble Hindoo” worthy of the great attention he received, “even if, in regard to his faith, ‘he followed not us.’ ”10 This use of Mark 9:38 is interesting. The Christian Register editor surely intended his readers to think of verse forty, where Jesus added that “he who is not against us is for us.” Perhaps Reed was conceding that Rammohun was half a Christian. Reed and Adam could have recognized the situation earlier. There were indications that Rammohun never abandoned Vedanta for Christian revelation. The suggestion in the Final Appeal of a separate “Christian dispensation” where Jesus was essential to worshipping the one true God is an example.11 Another is the explanation why he attended a chapel in Calcutta: “Unitarians believe, profess, and inculcate the doctrine of the divine unity—a doctrine which I find firmly maintained both by the Christian Scriptures and by our most ancient writings commonly called the Vedas.”12 The Vedanta College Rammohun founded around 1825 provided another clue. As Adam wrote, although the college allowed instruction in Christian Unitarianism, it was founded for “the propagation and defence of Hindoo Unitarianism.”13 And shortly before the break with Adam, Rammohun led the Calcutta Unitarian Committee to invite “all Unitarians, whether Christian or Hindoo, in every part of India” to form auxiliary associations.14 His years in Britain are interesting in this regard. Rammohun gave Rational Dissenters significant attention and expressed admiration for individual Unitarians.15 He gladdened them with pronouncements that, although “the Bishop and the Baptist were displeased with him for not believing with them . . . he could sooner put a sword to his heart than lie to his God.”16 He also defended the humanity of Jesus with vigor in salon debate.17 Yet there are indications of distance. Unitarians struggled to explain Rammohun’s unwillingness to be baptized or break caste, as well as his tendency to give orthodox interlocutors the impression that he agreed with them. The first two were relatively easy. Paul had lived like a Jew while proselytizing among them and Rammohun was following suit among his countrymen. Moreover, he would lose influence by breaking caste, which was primarily “a civil, not a religious institution.”18 The problem of impressions was trickier. At one Unitarian gathering, Rammohun voiced conventional opinions—out of deference to a lady present—and was challenged by another guest who read back to him a passage from his Precepts.19 Perhaps cultural habits—“eastern politeness,” as Lant Carpenter called it—contributed to reticence in face-to-face meetings with strangers.20 The Unitarian barrister James Losh was blunter. He had a long conversation about politics with Rammohun at a London gathering. The Bengali, however, “seemed rather to avoid the subject of religion, not knowing my sentiments and being apparently afraid of controversy.”21 Unitarians were not the only ones disappointed. Political radicals in Calcutta were unhappy by his “trimming” in London, where “the prejudices of courtesy” led him to give “shuffling” answers to questions about India posed by a parliamentary committee.22 One detects, however, a particular anxiety among Rational Dissenters whose trophy convert tended in conversation to persuade the orthodox that he shared their opinions and who was comfortable attending Anglican services.23



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Rammohun’s response when Unitarians lauded him at their 1831 annual meeting is noteworthy too. Like a modern politician on the campaign trail, he expressed sympathy and points of contact with the audience while leaving himself some wiggle room. Unitarians, he told those assembled, have “reason, scripture, and common sense” on their side, their opponents “wealth, power, and prejudice,” but “I am convinced that your success, sooner or later, is certain.” His own contributions to the Unitarian cause in Britain, Rammohun added, are “very trifling.” I am not sensible that I have done any thing to deserve being called a promoter of this cause; but with respect to your faith I may observe, that I too believe in the one God, and that I believe in almost all the doctrines that you do; but I do this for my own salvation and for my own peace.24

These comments suggest overlapping, but not identical interests, and a careful drawing of boundaries. Events at the very end of his life convey a similar impression. Lant Carpenter reported that, shortly before his demise, Rammohun professed belief in the mission and resurrection of Jesus. But the sacred thread he wore on his deathbed,25 the recitation of aum during his fatal illness, and his desire not to be buried on church grounds or according to Christian rites indicate that this assertion needs to be contextualized.26 A good place to start is with his universalism. Many commentators have described Rammohun as a universal theist who found a common basis—worship of an eternal, unitary godhead—in all the religions he studied.27 Accompanying this was a universal distrust of creeds, which led some contemporaries to insist that Rammohun was a pure Deist.28 But distrust was not disengagement. As Dermot Killingley notes, Rammohun thought all religions originally promoted worship of the one true God, but that each had been led astray by the introduction of distinctive doctrines and practices. In arriving at this, Rammohun drew upon Advaita Vedanta for interpreting the Hindu tradition, and Unitarianism for understanding the history of Christianity.29 There is a similar debt to Islamic rationalism in Tuhfat al-Muwahhidin, where, as Ajit Kumar Ray argues, Rammohun criticized sectarianism as a corrupting influence and universal phenomenon.30 The sheer volume of his Vedanta and Unitarian works supports Killingley’s emphasis on those two influences. There are other reasons to do so. Bruce Carlisle Robertson aptly notes that Rammohun found attractive Unitarianism’s social gospel because it reinforced his Vedantic conviction that true devotion leads to “freedom from poverty, superstition, and all forms of injustice in this world.”31 Vedantin and Unitarian were thus complementary identities for Rammohun. Each supplied him with means to criticize popular religion while also validating the integrity of Hinduism and Christianity. Each valorized his personal prosperity and sense of social commitment. He could also identify specific virtues in each. According to a report published long after his death, when asked which he preferred, Hinduism or Christianity, Rammohun chose to emphasize their different strengths. The Vedas contain superior notions of the deity and are unique in inculcating toleration as a duty, while “the moral precepts of Jesus are something most extraordinary.”32 This explains why Rammohun adopted the persona of Vedantin and Unitarian with equal facility. As a contemporary observed, “Rammohun Roy [is] as it were two people, one confronting the English Christians, and the other the Hindu brahmins.” When addressing the first, he relies on “European polemic” and Christian scriptures; with the latter, he turns to books “revered by Indians.”33



HALF A CHRISTIAN?


This brings us back to localization. Killingley’s argument—that Rammohun engaged Muslim, Hindu, and Christian audiences by appealing to their own scriptures and employing their respective rationalist traditions—is an important one. As the preceding pages suggest, the enormous respect that British and North American Unitarians held for Rammohun makes the most sense if we assume that he genuinely entered into their world of ideas and employed their modes of discourse with conviction. The Second and Final Appeal provide ample proof that that happened in the early 1820s. Whether he wore his sacred thread while composing these—which is most likely—does not really matter. It would not have concerned Rational Dissenters either. Unitarianism served as Christianity’s permeable borderland and provided a haven for individuals of widely divergent beliefs. In Britain, it could harbor political revolutionaries, radical Christians, Jews, Muslims, and, above all, anti-Trinitarians of all shades of opinion. Some of these made it a permanent home; for others it was a resting place on the way to other identities. It was this heritage—open-minded, tolerant, cosmopolitan—that allowed Unitarians to embrace Rammohun in whatever guise he appeared. When they first encountered him as a Vedantin, Rational Dissenters laid out the welcome mat for a Hindu or “unchristian” Unitarian.34 The masterful anti-Trinitarian exegeses that flowed from his pen in the 1820s led to joyous exultation for a fellow Christian Unitarian. And when his utterances and demeanor in Britain raised doubts, leading Unitarians shrugged off the question of conversion. “His adoption . . . of Christianity,” William J. Fox sermonized after Rammohun’s death, “I can scarcely call a conversion.” Before encountering that religion, Rammohun had in him “the spirit of Christ” and thus becoming a Christian wrought no essential change. Others have shared this spirit without knowing the teachings of Jesus, most notably Abraham.35 Like the patriarch, Rammohun rebelled against polytheism and idolatry, suffered ostracism and exile, and revived worship of the one true God. The substance of Christianity, Fox continued, could be found in Rammohun’s “pure theism.” There were differences—regarding the resurrection, for instance—but not in essential truths. Christianity “gloriously strengthened and illustrated” the principles that the Bengali held most dear. These were the unity of God, moral government, a future life, and duty summarized “in love to God and our neighbour.” No matter the appellation, this “is religion; this is Christianity in spirit and substance.” Could there be any doubt that Rammohun was now seated beside Abraham at the heavenly feast?36 Fox had expressed such sentiments before. In a review of the 1832 London edition of Rammohun’s Vedanta and anti-sati essays, he lauded the Bengali’s philanthropic work on behalf of women and his religious reforms. This “extraordinary man,” Fox wrote, has labored “not unsuccessfully, for the restoration of two religions from a corrupt state to one of simplicity and purity, first showing the Divine unity to have been the primeval doctrine of Hindooism, and since, of the Gospel.”37 As we saw in the first chapter, Fox believed that Christian Unitarians form a subset of a universal religion whose proponents over the ages have included Greek, Roman, Chinese, and Indian philosophers, as well as Jews, Muslims, Deists, and Bengali brahmans, all of whom recognized the unity of God.38 His South Place Chapel attracted intellectuals and artists of all kinds, due to its nonsectarian nature, unorthodox services, and focus on the fundamental ethics of Christianity. It was, as a contemporary noted, a chapel “frequented by persons of all beliefs and of no particular beliefs.”39 In Fox’s weltanschauung, there were no doubts about Rammohun’s religious identity, no need to argue about what creeds he professed.



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Robert Aspland would not have gone quite so far, as he thought that Christianity was the noblest manifestation of true religion. Still, his Hackney chapel attracted Jewish visitors and converts, and he and others in his congregation actively supported Jewish emancipation.40 Aspland shared Fox’s conviction that individuals from other ages, religions, and regions embodied the spirit of true piety and would enjoy the same heavenly reward. He too used the occasion of Rammohun’s death to expound this universalist message, urging as did Fox that it was of no real concern what specific Christian doctrines Rammohun may have adopted. “Our religion,” Aspland told his congregants, “stands not in a creed, or in ceremonies and forms, but in a piously disposed mind, an honest heart and a pure and upright life. Where these are found, there is Christianity in its life and spirit, and these may be found everywhere.” There are only two essential commandments, “love to God and love to man.” This was piety in the beginning of the world, and will be piety in the end. This was the religion of the patriarchs; it is the religion of such Christians as take Christ, as he appears in the Gospels, for their master; it is substantially the religion of pious Hindoos and pious Mussulmans . . . and . . . it is the religion pure and undefiled before Him, in which all his servants of all climes and tongues may unite upon earth, as an earnest of their blissful union in the purer eternal kingdom of Heaven.

Aspland did take note of Rammohun’s embrace of Unitarianism and praised him for defending it “with an ability rarely exceeded by the best English theologians.” He also admitted that the Bengali differed from mainstream Unitarians on some doctrinal points, but simply pointed out that Unitarians differed nearly as much from each other as they did from other denominations. In his heart, Aspland insisted, Rammohun was with the Unitarians. But works, not doctrines, were the paramount matter. Rammohun was a truly pious man, as proved by his religious and philanthropic activities. For this he would be recognized at judgment day when “his name will be found in the Book of Life, and the Son of Man will welcome him, with all the righteous, into his Heavenly Father’s kingdom!”41 Fox and Aspland gave great emphasis to love of God and love of humanity. This was no accident. Rammohun opened the Second Appeal by citing Matthew 22:37–40 as proof that the words of Jesus were sufficient guide to salvation.42 In locating the essence of Christianity in the two express commandments of Jesus, these men found common cause with each other—and with other religions. As Fox and Aspland reminded their audiences, Rammohun wanted inscribed on his tombstone the words of the thirteenthcentury Persian poet Sa’di: “The true way of serving God is to do good to man.”43 Here was a universal message they could all share.



HALF A CHRISTIAN?




Rammohun Roy’s Presentation Letter to the Duke of Sussex

This unsigned letter is pasted inside the cover of the duke of Sussex’s copy of Rammohun’s Translation of Several Principal Books, Passages, and Texts of the Veds, and of Some Controversial Works on Brahmunical Theology, published in London in 1832. Inscribed on the half-title page is the following: To His Royal Highness The Duke of Sussex With the Translator’s highest Respects. The letter and inscription appear to be in different hands; the first may have been penned by Sandford Arnot or another amanuensis. The letter and volume are now in the possession of Dr. Williams’s Library, London. The letter is reproduced here with the kind permission of the library’s trustees and its director, Dr. David Wykes. The duke’s copy is a personalized one. Besides the Vedanta and sati tracts, it contains a lithographic image and biographical sketch of Rammohun, both taken directly from Alexander’s East India Magazine.1 There are also pencil and ink markings in the volume. On page 17, the word “True” is written alongside a passage in Translation of an Abridgment of the Vedant where Rammohun wrote that “the Ved affirm that God is the sole object of worship.” The letter indicates that Rammohun had previously given the duke two unidentified works. As discussed in chapter 3, one of these was most likely some version of The Precepts of Jesus and the Appeals. The reference to Kensington Palace and Sussex’s interest in oriental sacred books suggests that Rammohun was familiar with the famous library of theological works that the duke compiled at his residence.2

TEXT OF THE LETTER Rajah Rammohun Roy presents his best Respects to His Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex, and has the honor to acknowledge His Grace’s communication of



Appendix B


the 18th Instant, and begs to express the high sense he entertains of the very kind and obliging terms in which His Royal Highness has expressed himself towards him. To receive the approbation of a Prince who ranks so high in the estimation of all the most liberal and enlightened in every part of the World is indeed the highest reward which he can ever expect to enjoy. R. R. feels encouraged by the indulgent reception of his two former publications to request His Grace’s acceptance of a third, just issued from the Press; a translation of some parts of the Veds & c; which from its novelty and antiquity combined, will, he trusts, prove interesting to His Royal Highness; who has so successfully studied some other of the ancient Sacred Books of the East. R. R. regrets extremely to hear of His Royal Highness’s late indisposition. He hopes, before he proceeds to the continent of Europe, to have the honor of calling at Kensington Palace, and taking leave of His Grace personally, if His Grace do not immediately leave Town and be able to appoint a time when it may be convenient to receive him. 48 Bedford Square August the 14th 1832. P. S. As the Volume referred to in the foregoing Note has not yet been received from the Bookbinder R. R. will have the honor of forwarding it to His Royal Highness, as soon as completed.



174

Archives APAC: BAG: BL: BLN:

(British Library) Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections. Bristol City Museum and Art Gallery. British Library. British Library, Nineteenth-Century Newspapers Digital Collection. RMR: Articles located using “Ram Mohun Roy” as key word. RR: Articles located using “Rammohun Roy” as key word. BLP: British Library, Nineteenth-Century U. K. Periodicals Digital Collection. RMR: Articles located using “Ram Mohun Roy” as key word. RR: Articles located using “Rammohun Roy” as key word. BRO: Bristol Record Office. CMS: Church Missionary Society Archives, University of Birmingham Library. DWL: Dr. Williams’s Library, London. HL: Houghton Library, Harvard University. LCC: Lant Carpenter Collection, Harris Manchester College Library, Oxford. LRC: Liverpool Record Office. NA: National Archives (Public Records Office). RAS: Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland. RCS: Royal Commonwealth Society Library, Cambridge University Library. RH: Bodleian Library of Commonwealth and African Studies at Rhodes House, Oxford. RHUL: Archives, Royal Holloway, University of London. BC: Bedford College Collections.

Official Publications AVP: BSP: BSP2: JHC:

Appendix to the Votes and Proceedings of the House of Commons. British Sessional Papers, House of Commons. Irish University Press Series of British Parliamentary Papers. Journal of the House of Commons.



Abbreviations

176

A BBREVIATIONS

Miscellaneous Alexander Pope. An Essay on Man. Edited by Maynard Mack. The Twickenham Edition of the Poems of Alexander Pope, vol. 3.1. London: Methuen, 1950. CJB: The Correspondence of Jeremy Bentham. Vols. 11–12. Edited by Catherine Fuller and Luke O’Sullivan. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000–2006. CWJB: The Collected Works of Jeremy Bentham. Edited by J[ames] H. Burns, et al. London and Oxford: Athlone and Clarendon Press, 1968—. LW: “Legislator of the World”: Writings on Codification, Law and Education. Edited by Philip Schofield and Jonathan Harris. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998. SM: Securities against Misrule and Other Constitutional Writings for Tripoli and Greece. Edited by Philip Schofield. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990. DNB: Oxford Dictionary of National Biography: http://oxforddnb.com/ HPD: Hansard Parliamentary Debates. HPD2: Hansard Parliamentary Debates: http://hansard.millbanksystems.com/ JB1: The Jefferson Bible: With the Annotated Commentaries on Religion of Thomas Jefferson. Edited by O. I. A. Roche and introduction by Henry Wilder Foote. New York: Clarkson Potter, 1964. JB2: Thomas Jefferson. The Jefferson Bible: The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth. Introduction by F. Forrest Church. Boston: Beacon Press, 1989. JE: Jefferson’s Extracts from the Gospels: “The Philosophy of Jesus” and “The Life and Morals of Jesus.” Edited by Dickinson W. Adams. The Papers of Thomas Jefferson, 2nd Series. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983. NTIV: The New Testament, in an Improved Version, upon the Basis of Archbishop Newcome’s New Translation: with a Corrected Text, and Notes Critical and Explanatory. London: J. Johnson, and Longman, Hurst, Rees and Orme, 1808. WJB: The Works of Jeremy Bentham. Edited by John Bowring. Edinburgh: William Tait, 1838–1843.

Periodicals * Place of publication is London, unless otherwise indicated. AEI: AJ: BH: ChR: CJ: CR: FI: MC:

Alexander’s East India Magazine; and Colonial and Commercial Journal. Asiatic Journal and Monthly Register for British India and Its Dependencies; New Series (NS). Bengal Hurkaru and Chronicle, Calcutta. Christian Register, Boston. Calcutta Journal. Christian Reformer, or, New Evangelical Miscellany. Friend of India, Monthly Series (MS) and Quarterly Series (QS), Serampore. Morning Chronicle.



AP:

A BBREVIATIONS

TRAS:

Monthly Repository of Theology and General Literature; New Series (NS). Missionary Register. Oriental Herald, and Colonial Review (also: Oriental Herald, and Journal of General Literature). Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland.

Rammohun Roy’s Works AW:

Auflösung des Wedant oder der Auflösung aller Wed’s . . . Von Remmohon Roy, einem Braminen. Jena: August Schmid, 1817. CRR: The Correspondence of Raja Rammohun Roy. Edited by Dilip Kumar Biswas. 2 vols. Calcutta: Saraswat, 1992–1997. EWG: The English Works of Raja Rammohun Roy. Edited by Jogendra Chunder Ghose. 1906. 4 vols. Reprint, New Delhi: Cosmo, 1982. EWG1: The English Works of Raja Rammohun Roy. Edited by Jogendra Chunder Ghose. Compiled and published by Eshan Chunder Bose. Vol. 1. Calcutta: Oriental Press, 1885. EWNB: The English Works of Raja Rammohun Roy. Edited by Kalidas Nag and Debajyoti Burman. 6 Parts. Calcutta: Sadharan Brahmo Samaj, 1945–1951. FAL: Rammohun Roy. Final Appeal to the Christian Public, in Defence of the “Precepts of Jesus.” London: Unitarian Society, 1823. PJ1: Rammohun Roy. The Precepts of Jesus . . . To Which Are Added, the First and Second Appeal to the Christian Public in Reply to the Observations of Dr. Marshman, of Serampore. London: Unitarian Society, 1823. PJ2: Rammohun Roy. The Precepts of Jesus . . . To Which Are Added, the First, Second, and Final Appeal to the Christian Public in Reply to the Observations of Dr. Marshman, of Serampore. London: Unitarian Society, 1824. PJ3: Rammohun Roy. The Precepts of Jesus . . . To Which Are Added, the First and Second Appeal to the Christian Public, in Reply to the Observations of Dr. Marshman, of Serampore. New York: B. Bates, 1825. PJ4: Rammohun Roy. The Precepts of Jesus . . . To Which Are Added, the First, Second, and Final Appeal to the Christian Public, in Reply to the Observations of Dr. Marshman, of Serampore. Boston: Christian Register Office, 1828. PJ5: Rammohun Roy. The Precepts of Jesus . . . To Which Are Added, the First, Second, and Final Appeal to the Christian Public in Reply to the Observations of Dr. Marshman, of Serampore. 2nd London ed. London: John Mardon, 1834. SAL: Rammohun Roy. Second Appeal to the Christian Public, in Defence of the “Precepts of Jesus” by the Late Rajah Rammohun Roy. 2nd ed. London: John Mardon, 1834. SR: Rammohun Roy. Some Remarks in Vindication of the Resolution Passed by the Government of Bengal in 1829 Abolishing the Practice of Female Sacrifices in India. 1832? Reprinted in The Modern Review 55, no. 3 (1934): 272–76. TA: Rammohun Roy. Translation of an Abridgment of the Vedant, Or, Resolution of all the Veds . . . London: T. and J. Hoitt, 1817.



MR: MsR: OH:

177

TCD: TV:

A BBREVIATIONS Rammohun Roy. A Treatise on Christian Doctrine, Being the Second Appeal to the Christian Public, in Defence of the “Precepts of Jesus.” 2nd London ed. London: British and Foreign Unitarian Association, 1834. Rammohun Roy. Translation of Several Principal Books, Passages, and Texts of the Veds, and of Some Controversial Works on Brahmunical Theology. 2nd ed. London: Parbury and Allen, 1832. Copyright material from www.palgraveconnect.com - licensed to Universitetsbiblioteket i Tromsoe - PalgraveConnect - 2011-03-05

178


INTRODUCTION: THE CELEBRATED R AMMOHUN ROY 1. Fisher, Counterflows, p. 252; Majumdar, Moghuls, p. 336; Collet, Life, p. 307. There is dispute whether one of those in the party—Ramratna Mukherjee—was a servant or associate of Rammohun (CRR 2: 855; Fisher, Counterflows, pp. 252, 259, and private communication). 2. Visram, Ayahs, Chaps. 2–4, and Asians, Chap. 2; Fisher, Counterflows, Parts I and II, and Travels, Part III. 3. Also transliterated as Rammohan Roy (or Ray), Ram Mohan (or Mohun) Roy, and Ramamohana Raya. I use the form he employed when signing his name in English, as do many scholars and librarians. I follow convention in using “Rammohun” as the short form. For more on these issues, see Killingley, Rammohun, p. 1, and Only, p. 5. 4. See, for example, Chakravarti, Father, and Robertson, Rammohan. 5. Sutherland, “Reminiscences.” 6. Liverpool Mercury, April 22, 1831, p. 126; Manchester Guardian, April 16, 1831, p.3; Preston Chronicle, April 23, 1831 (accessed through BLN, RR [#5]). For a detailed account of the train ride and visit, see James Sutherland’s account in BH, September 10, 1831, p. 3. 7. Sutherland, “Reminiscences.” See also his account in BH, September 10, 1831, p. 3. 8. MC, April 19, 1831, p. 4; Liverpool Chronicle, April 23, 1831, p. 7. 9. Arnot, “Biographical,” p. 667 (quotation); Sutherland, “Reminiscences.” 10. Pinney, Letters, p. 47. 11. Examiner, August 7, 1831 (accessed through BLN, RMR [#12]); see also Mirror of Literature 18 (1831): 85. 12. Court Journal, September 10, 1831, p. 623; Carpenter, Review, p. 116; Banerji, Rajah Rammohun, p. 32. Rammohun’s “Brahmin” dress—turban and “kabah” [robe?] of purple velvet embroidered in gold—for his meeting with the king is noted in The Satirist, September 11, 1831, p. 23 (accessed through BLP, RR [#63]). 13. BH, September 10, 1831, p. 3. 14. Sutherland, “Reminiscences.” 15. Their relationship is discussed in chapter 3. 16. Kemble, Record 3: 144. 17. Martineau, Autobiography 1: 271–89 (especially p. 280). 18. Kemble, Record 3: 202–203. For the Montagus, see V. Markham Lester, “Montagu, Basil (1770–1851),” DNB. 19. Sutherland, “Reminiscences”; Arnot, “Biographical,” pp. 667–68. 20. Buckingham, “Sketch,” pp. 119–20.



Notes

NOTES

21. The Satirist, October 9, 1831, p. 215 (accessed through BLP, RR [#65]). Hansard also noted his presence: HPD2, 3rd ser., vol. 7 (Lords, October 5, 1831), col. 1307. In 1832 Rammohun attended an entire week’s debate in Lords on reform: The Age, April 15, 1832, p. 126 (accessed through BLP, RR [74]). 22. Belfast News-Letter, August 16, 1831 (accessed through BLN, RMR [#13]). 23. Court Journal, June 29, 1833, p. 453. For more on the spa, see Mirror of Literature 19 (1832): 225–27. 24. The Age, May 26, 1833, p. 162 (accessed through BLP, RR [#94]; Court Journal, May 25, 1833, p. 359; Literary Gazette, June 11 and July 23, 1831, pp. 378, 475, and May 25, 1833, p. 330. 25. For examples, see MC, July 9, 1831, p. 3; The Satirist, July 10, 1831, p. 110 (accessed through BLP, RR [#61]); AJ (NS) 5 (August 1831): 237. 26. This episode is discussed in chapter 7. 27. Naval and Military Gazette, January 11, 1834, p. 29. 28. See chapter 3 for more on these two images. 29. BH, August 18, 1831, p. 2. 30. For examples, see Literary Gazette, June 4, 1831, p. 363; AEI 1 (1830–1831): facing p. 557; Mirror of Literature 22 (1833): 225. Ads for the Mirror of Literature made mention of the portrait: The Age, October 27 and December 15, 1833, pp. 343, 395 (accessed through BLP, RR [#104, 109]). Gentleman’s Magazine did not reproduce the image with its obituary, but did mention that copies of the portrait existed: 103, part 2 (1833): 368. 31. BL, Add. Mss. 29747, folio 101. I am grateful to Michael Fisher for this reference. 32. See appendix B. 33. The two images are found at BL, APAC, Prints and Drawings, WD1288 and WD3206. 34. The miniatures are held in the Bristol City Museum and Art Gallery (Accession No. M.4653–4). According to that institution’s records, the miniatures were executed “soon after the Rajah’s death” and they hung at Red Lodge while Mary Carpenter used that building for her school. 35. Prichard, Researches (1836–1847) 3: frontispiece. For Prichard’s life and work, see George Stocking’s introduction to Prichard, Researches (1973), pp. ix–cx. 36. See chapter 3, note 86 for more about this engraving. It was advertised for sale: AJ (NS) 15 (December 1834): 336. 37. The Age, April 21, 1833, p. 123 (accessed through BLP, RR [#92]). An earlier piece used Rammohun’s enthusiasm for reform to mock the slow progress on a reform bill: The Age, April 15, 1832, p. 126 (accessed through BLP, RR [#74]). 38. BL, APAC, Home Misc. Series, vol. 790, ff. 691–98. (I thank Rozina Visram for this reference.) The views supposedly expressed by Rammohun can be found in Shore’s letters published in the India Gazette: see Shore, Notes 1: 25–38, 211–219; 433–46, and 2: 1–7. For Shore’s career and views, see Penner and MacLean, Rebel. 39. This tract is discussed at the end of chapter 5. 40. Carpenter, Last, pp. 101–102. Carpenter records that Rammohun took a great interest in the child, the son of the Rev. D. Davison, in whose care Rammohun placed his own adopted son, Rajaram. Thomas Rammohun Roy Davison died in 1899: Glasgow Herald, August 4, 1899 (accessed through BLN, RR [#102]). 41. Medwin, Angler 2: 83–85 (quotation, 84), and “Bengal,” pp. 60–61. For the literary uses that Medwin and Shelley made of Rammohun’s Vedanta, see Leask, British, Chap. 2. 42. The rumor was spread by orthodox enemies of Rammohun: Collet, Life, pp. 291–92, 297–301; Fisher, Counterflows, pp. 300–301.



180

181

43. Joseph Tuckerman reported a London newspaper hinting of a private marriage: diary, 30 October 1833, Joseph Tuckerman Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society. See also Collet, Life, pp. 298–99. The Bengal Hurkaru recycled the London gossip: BH, October 26 and 27, 1832 (both p. 3). 44. See the concluding part of this Web site: http://nichirenscoffeehouse.net/gen/rajah1. htm (accessed April 18, 2010). For a similar claim regarding Mohan Lal, who visited Britain in the 1840s, see Fisher, Counterflows, p. 360. 45. This and other Ram Doss letters are discussed in chapter 8. 46. These events are explored in chapter 7. 47. Copies of Rammohun’s correspondence during his first two years in London filled a large folio volume: AJ (NS) 12 (1833): 289. This volume apparently has not survived. There were also reports that Rammohun wrote a “memorandum” of his visit to Britain: AJ (NS) 20 (July 1836), Part 2 (Supplement to Asiatic Intelligence): 170. This too has yet to surface. 48. Arnot published these claims briefly in the Times, November 23, 1833, p. 3, and then in detailed fashion in AJ (NS) 12 (1833): 287–90. 49. See John Hare’s letter to the Times, December 11, 1833, p. 6; and Carpenter, Review, pp. 128–36. The controversy is discussed in Collet, Life, pp. 401–411, where the editors conclude that Arnot’s claims are baseless. 50. Not coincidentally, Arnot was one of those who denied that Rammohun was a Unitarian Christian: Times, November 23, 1833, p. 3; AJ (NS) 12 (1833): 290. In his obituary, however, Arnot was more sympathetic to the Unitarian position (Arnot, “Biographical,” p. 667). 51. Times, December 11, 1833, p. 6. For Rammohun’s stay with the Hare family, see CRR 2: 773. 52. H. H. Wilson to Ramcomul Sen, December 21, 1833, in Mittra, Life, pp. 14–15. 53. For Owen, see CRR 1: 560–62, and CRR 2: 706–709; for Wilberforce, see Wilberforce and Wilberforce, Life, p. 345, and Caledonian Mercury (Edinburgh), March 14, 1833 (accessed through BLN, RR [#18]); for Mill, see Rammohun’s autograph letter to unknown addressee, dated May 13, 1833, BL, APAC, MSS Eur F/88/85; for Godwin, see Paul, Godwin 2: 324–25; for Disraeli, see Court Journal, May 25, 1833, p. 359. 54. See chapter 8 for the proposed translation. An anonymous writer appears to mock the project in a lampoon of Brougham: Figaro in London, May 30, 1835, pp. 91–92 (accessed through BLP, RR [#130]). William Roscoe and Sir Alexander Johnston introduced Rammohun to Brougham, as chapters 3 and 8 indicate. A published report suggests that Rammohun was frequently Brougham’s guest: Oriental Literary Observer (Calcutta), December 25, 1831, p. 622 (accessed through BLP, RMR [#42]). Brougham, however, left Rammohun out of his autobiography and there is no listing for Rammohun in the catalog of Brougham’s correspondence held at University College, London. A recent study of Brougham’s later career is silent about Rammohun (Huch, Brougham). 55. Sutherland, “Reminiscences.” Sutherland claims Rammohun dismissed phrenology as quackery. It should be noted, however, that Rammohun was a member of the Calcutta Phrenological Society: AJ 20 (1825): 450. 56. Anonymous, “Life.” Support for the analysis can be found in MC, September 4, 1838, p. 3; Bristol Mercury, April 13, 1839 (accessed through BLN, RR [#52]); and Oriental Observer and Literary Chronicle (Calcutta), January 19, 1839, p. 20 (accessed through BLP, RR [#154]). 57. See note 1 above. 58. Prichard, Researches (1836–1847) 3: xvii, and 4: plate facing p. 235, pp. 237–38, 248–49. Prichard’s monogenism is summarized in Stocking, Victorian, pp. 48–53. Stocking



NOTES

59.

60.

61.

62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70.

71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77.

78. 79.

NOTES notes that Prichard generally dismissed the idea that climate alone determined differences in skin color, looking instead to cultural influences and hereditary mutations to explain variations in humankind: Prichard, Researches (1973), pp. xliv–liii. His turban and shawls drew attention, as did his European-style shoes: ChR, August 16, 1831, p. 130; Scoresby, Memorial, p. 72. H. P. Briggs’ portrait captures these features (see figure 3.2.) According to Joseph Tuckerman, Rammohun was aware that he was sometimes an object of display: diary, 27 December 1833, Joseph Tuckerman Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society. ChR, August 6, 1831, p. 126; Scoresby, Memorial, pp. 71–77; Carpenter, Review, pp. 31–32, 82–85. For Foster’s leadership role among English Baptists, see ChR, April 19, 1834, p. 61. CRR 1: 561–62. Penny Satirist, September 15, 1838, p. 3 (accessed through BLP, RR [#152]). For a similar complaint, see Le Breton, Memories, p. 171. See, for example, MC, September 11, 1819, p. 3. Locke, Life, p. 78. For 1 John 5: 7, see Metzger, Text, pp. 101–102. Garnett and Garnett, Life, p. 55. Sutherland, “Reminiscences.” Fitzclarence, Journal, p. 106; DWL: Henry Crabb Robinson Diary, vol. 14 (December 1, 1828–June 18, 1832), pp. 96–97. Aspinall, Three, p. 95. According to Mary Carpenter, Rammohun engaged a Bristol gathering on religious and political topics for three hours, standing the entire time (Last, p. 117). This account is corroborated by Joseph Tuckerman: diary, 27 December 1833, Joseph Tuckerman Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society. Philips, Correspondence, I, pp. 658–59. Sutherland, “Reminiscences”; see also Sutherland’s account in BH, September 10, 1831, p. 3. Bayly, Empire, pp. 199–207, 212–14, 238–43; for the role of lithography, see also Shaw, “Calcutta,” pp. 89–90. Killingley, “Controversies,” pp. 145–57; Singh, Rammohun, pp. 137–50; Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 32–34, 158–64. Collet, Life, pp. 74–75, 109; Singh, Rammohun¸pp. 137–38; Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 32–33; Killingley, Only, pp. 19, 30. CRR 2: 756. For examples of the phrase, or allusion to it, see MC, September 11, 1819, p. 3; AJ 15 (1823): 441, 442 (the first is a translation of a French publication); Kaleidoscope (Liverpool), April 19, 1831, p. 331; Examiner, June 5, 1831 (accessed through BLN, RR [#9]); Boston Daily Advertiser, May 12, 1823, front page; Christian Watchman (Boston), September 11, 1824, p. 159; Adam, Letter, “Advertisement.” Stoler and Cooper, “Rethinking,” pp. 28, 34. The three pamphlets are Translation of the Ishopanishad (1816), Translation of the Cena Upanishad (1816), and A Defence of Hindoo Theism (1817): EWG 1: 33–42, 61–77, 87–100 [EWNB 2: 11–20, 39–55, 81–93]. For the reviews and notices, see North American Review (Boston), 6 (1818): 386–93; CJ, October 13, 1818, cols. 69–71; Monthly Magazine 44 (1818): 485–86, and 45 (1818): 123–25; MR 14 (1819): 561–69. The Missionary Register reprinted most of the Cena Upanishad: MsR (1818): 518–22. Deocar Schmid probably included copies of these three in the batch of Rammohun’s publications that he sent to Germany in 1819: letter dated Calcutta, December 1, 1819, CMS: C I 1/ 0 255/1 (North



182

NOTES

183

1 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13.

14. 15. 16. 17.

18. 19. 20.

21.

22. 23. 24. 25.

THE UNITARIANS

Clark, English. For a critical elaboration of Clark’s thesis, see Waterman, “Nexus.” Wach, “ ‘Still,’ ” p. 426fn; Kitson Clark, Making, pp. 148–49, 151. Watts, Dissenters 2: 81. English Quakers had even smaller numbers, comprising 0.1 percent of the population at the time of the 1851 religious census (Watts, Dissenters 2: 81). Wilbur, History 1: 5. McLachlan, Socinianism, p. 1fn. Ibid., pp. 318–19 (quotation); Carpenter, Memoirs, pp. 242–43; Aspland, Memoir, p. 221. Seed, “Unitarianism,” p. 3; Salbstein, Emancipation, pp. 60, 65. Fox, Course, pp. 113–18. McCalman, “New,” pp. 314–19, 327–33; “Ultra-Radicalism,” pp. 314–15, 320–25; and Radical, Chap. 7. McCalman, Radical, pp. 139–51, and “New”; Fryer, Staying, pp. 222–27. Seed, “Theologies,” p. 112. William J. Fox, “On the Character and Writings of the Rev. T. Belsham,” MR (NS) 4 (1830): 166 (for Fox’s authorship, see Mineka, Dissidence, p. 406). See also Fox, Course, pp. 90–91, 152–53. Quoted in Seed, “Unitarianism,” p. 3. For more on these issues, see appendix A. The classic account is Wilbur’s two-volume History of Unitarianism. For Rational Dissent and its relationship to Unitarianism, see Haakonssen, “Enlightened,” pp. 4–5, Saunders, “State,” p. 251, and Webb, “Emergence,” pp. 37–40. As Haakonssen notes, the two terms became nearly synonymous during the eighteenth century. In this book they will be treated as such. Standard works on this period include Wilbur, History 2: 166–270, McLachlan, Socinianism, and Watts, Dissenters. Short, “Presbyterians,” pp. 229–30 (quotation); Wilbur, History 2: 280–85. The following account of Priestley is taken from Schofield, Enlightenment and Enlightened; Wilbur, History 2: 294–305, 313–315; and Short, “Presbyterians,” pp. 229–32. Schofield, Enlightenment, pp. 213–14, and Enlightened, pp. 16–23, 277–84; Seed, “Gentlemen,” p. 319; Wilbur, History 2: 285; Watts, Dissenters 2: 348–51; Aspland, Memoir, pp. 53, 55, 118, 133–35, 216, 357–58, 505, 512. Schofield, Enlightened, pp. 284–89, Chap. 15; Watts, Dissenters 2: 353–55; Wilbur, History 2: 306–13; Mineka, Dissidence, pp. 23–24. Thomas Belsham, letter to the editor, MR 14 (1819): 657–60. Wilbur, History 2: 326–29, 338–43; Fox, “Belsham,” pp. 83–84, 244–47. For Belsham’s position on excluding Arians, see MR 14 (1819): 658–59. Aspland, Memoir, pp. 1–3, 48–52, 195–99, 281–92; Wilbur, History 2: 334–35, 369.



India Mission). For the French reception, see Moore, Rammohun, pp. 121–22; and MR 15 (1820): 4–7. 80. Cox, British, Chap. 1 and pp. 124–32. 81. The missionaries’ hopes are discussed in Killingley, Rammohun, p. 11 and Robertson, Rammohan, p. 39. For examples of their interest in Rammohun after conceding him to the Unitarians, see MsR (1823): 187–90; (1830): 20; (1831): 206–207; and (1832): 34.

NOTES

26. Schofield, Enlightenment, pp. 193–201 (quotation, p. 194), and Enlightened, pp. 202–207; Mineka, Dissidence, pp. 39–42. 27. Mineka, Dissidence, pp. 79–82, Chaps. 3, 5–6; Wilbur, History 2: 331–32; Rowell, “Origins,” p. 40. 28. Mineka, Dissidence, Chap. 4; Garnett and Garnett, Life. 29. Seed, “Theologies,” pp. 113–15; Short, “Presbyterians,” pp. 232–33; Fox, Course, p. 154. 30. Wilbur, History 2: 258–63; Watts, Dissenters 1: 375–76; Fox, Course, pp. 152–53. 31. Seed, “Theologies,” p. 113. 32. Quoted in Watts, Dissenters 1: 378. 33. Seed, “Theologies,” p. 115. 34. Watts, Dissenters 1: 270, 272, 278, 285–86, 354–56. Priestley came from the woolclothmaking area of the West Riding (Schofield, Enlightenment, pp. 2–3). 35. Seed, “Gentlemen,” pp. 301–306; “Theologies,” pp. 118–29; and “Set,” pp. 147–48. For the evangelical appeal to lower class Britons, see Watts, Dissenters 1: 407–410. 36. For evidence supporting this impression, see Watts, Dissenters 2: 316, 332, 335–36. 37. McLachlan, Socinianism, pp. 31, 163–65 (quotations). 38. Watts, Dissenters 1: 354; 2: 316. 39. Seed, “Theologies,” pp. 118–19, 144; Fryer, Staying, pp. 220–27; McCalman, “New,” pp. 314–19, 327–33, and Radical, pp. 58, 60, 132. 40. Seed, “Theologies,” pp. 120–21. See also Seed, “Gentlemen,” pp. 302–306, and “Unitarianism,” p. 7. 41. Seed, “Gentlemen,” pp. 310–12, 314, 324, and “Theologies,” pp. 134–35; Watts, Dissenters 2: 347. 42. Schofield, Enlightenment and Enlightened; Wilbur, History 2: 299; Watts, Dissenters 2: 281; Webb, “Faith,” p. 130. 43. Watts, Dissenters 2: 379–81; Aikin, Memoir 1: 10, 34, 37–38, 55, 58, 62–63, 75, 117, 121–22, 171, 214. 44. Quoted in Seed, “Gentlemen,” p. 322. See also Schofield, Enlightenment, pp. 208–209. 45. Quoted in Watts, Dissenters 2: 279. 46. Seed, “Unitarianism,” pp. 4–6; Watts, Dissenters 2: 279–82, 639; Schofield, Enlightenment, pp. 78–83, 87–119, 164, and Enlightened, pp. 242–47; Holt, Unitarian, pp. 20–23; Roscoe, Life 1: 22, 47–48, 53, 93, 160, 168–69, 186–92; 2: 94, 106, 115–16, 120–21, 360; Carpenter, Memoirs, pp. 267–70, 354–57. 47. Seed, “Unitarianism,” p. 6. Seed borrows the concept from Pierre Bourdieu. 48. Fox, Course, p. 153. 49. Seed, “Gentlemen,” pp. 316–17, 324, and “Set,” pp. 157–59. 50. Clark, English, p. 390. 51. Fox, Duties, pp. iii–iv, 46–47. For his view that freedom of discussion is important to the discovery of truth, see also Fox, Course, pp. 142–46, 153. 52. Read, Press, Chaps. 3–4. 53. Ibid., pp. 69–70, 74–93; Watts, Dissenters 2: 378–84. 54. Watts, Dissenters 2: 384. 55. On this point, see Webb, “Bowring,” p. 53. 56. Helmstadter, “Greg,” pp. 187–222; Pichanick, Martineau, Chaps. 1–3; Watts, Dissenters 2: 525–27; Garnett and Garnett, Fox, pp. 258–69. 57. Watt, Dissenters 2: 334, 337–39. 58. Seed, “Theologies,” pp. 130–32, 134–35, 142, 145–46, and “Gentlemen,” p. 315; Short, “Presbyterians,” pp. 223–24; Webb, “Bowring,” p. 48; Garnett and Garnett, Fox, pp. 2–5; Aspland, Memoir, pp. 1–2.



184

185

59. Wach, “ ‘Still’,” pp. 425–56; Webb, “Thom,” pp. 232–43; Seed, “Theologies,” pp. 135–46; Watts, Dissenters 2: 488, 506, 517, 519, 525–27. 60. Quoted in Seed, “Unitarianism,” p. 11. 61. Watts, Dissenters 2: 347, 352. 62. Davis, Dissent, pp. 120–35. 63. For the Unitarian experience with persecution, ostracism, and legal challenges, see Wilbur, History 2: 204–207, 306–311; Short, “Presbyterians,” pp. 245–52; Mineka, Dissidence, pp. 23–24; Seed, “Theologies,” pp. 131–32, and “Set,” pp. 157–58; Watts, Dissenters 2: 353–55, 379; and Aspland, Memoir, pp. 375–84. 64. Manning, Protestant, pp. 19–32, 40, 56–60, 75–77, 82, 97–99, 107–16, 225–32, 264, 272–73, 289–300; Davis, Dissent, pp. 30–31, 78–88, 148–86, 190–94; Short, “Presbyterians,” pp. 244–45; Watts, Dissenters 2: 367–72, 387. 65. Seed, “Gentlemen,” pp. 306–309, 318–21, 324, and “Set,” pp. 144–56, 159–64; Schofield, Enlightened, Chap. 1. 66. Hughes, Diaries 1: xvi–xvii; 2: 52, 55, 125, 136–37, 160–233. 67. Roscoe, Life; Chandler, Roscoe, p. 2. 68. Roscoe, Life 1: 97–98, 122, 154–56, 183–84, 215–19, 229; 2: 350–51. For Holland and the Unitarians, see Kriegel, Holland, pp. xvi–xxv. Also useful is Mitchell, Holland, pp. 102–108. 69. Seed, “Unitarianism,” pp. 4–6; Bowring, Autobiographical, p. 387; Holt, Unitarian, pp. 21–24. For Bowring’s election, see Bartle, Old, pp. 36–40. 70. Seed, “Set,” pp. 143–44. 71. Webb, “Thom,” pp. 215–16; Holt, Unitarian, pp. 23–24. 72. Davis, Dissent, Chaps. 1–2. 73. Ibid., Chap. 3 (quotation, pp. 43–44). For Priestley’s comment, see Seed, “Gentlemen,” p. 316. 74. Kriegel, Holland, pp. xvi–xviii (quotation, p. xvi); Reid, Fox, pp. 251–56, 260–62, 278, 281–82; Davis, Dissent, p. 49. 75. Davis, Dissent, pp. 97–104, 190, 205–209; Kriegel, Holland, pp. xvii–xviii. 76. Davis, Dissent, pp. 44–49, 217–21, 245; Watts, Dissenters 2: 419–24; Manning, Protestant, pp. 221–26. 77. Aspland, Memoir, pp. 403, 467–73, 481–85; Davis, Dissent, pp. 236–46; Watts, Dissenters 2: 422–24. 78. Aspland, Memoir, pp. 475, 484, 488–89. For Holland’s support for this measure, and for the more general idea of separating church and state, see Mitchell, Holland, pp. 104–108. 79. For a survey of this issue, see Davis, Dissent, pp. 229–34. 80. Aspland, Memoir, pp. 483, 485–87, 490–95 (quotations, pp. 492, 494); Watts, Dissenters 2: 420–22, 424–25; Clark, English, pp. 523–24; Davis, Dissent, pp. 229–33. 81. Carpenter, Memoirs, pp. 193–94, 320–23, 381–82, 407. 82. Salbstein, Emancipation, pp. 50–52, 57–61; Gilam, Emancipation, pp. 14–15, 72–73. Some sources render the wording as “on the true faith of a Christian”: Gilam, Emancipation, p. 14; Examiner, July 24, 1858 (accessed through BLN, RR [#65]). 83. Gilam, Emancipation, pp. 18, 76–80. 84. Salbstein, Emancipation, p. 65. 85. Aspland, Memoir, pp. 221, 234, 251, 490; MR 13 (1818): 586–94; MR 14 (1819): 345–48, 578–83; Salbstein, Emancipation, pp. 60, 65; Gilam, Emancipation, pp. 18, 73; McCalman, Radical, p. 37. 86. Watts, Dissenters 2: 453–58; Manning, Protestant, pp. 385, 388. 87. Aspland, Memoir, pp. 524–35; Manning, Protestant, pp. 271–77.



NOTES

186

NOTES

88. Mineka, Dissidence, p. 22.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

26.

27.

R AMMOHUN ROY, THOMAS JEFFERSON, AND THE BIBLE

In Italian his name is Fausto Paolo Sozzini. This account relies on Wilbur, History, and McLachlan, Socinianism. Wright, Beginnings; Robinson, Unitarians, Chap. 2. Wright, Beginnings, Chap. 8; Robinson, Unitarians, pp. 3–8. Schofield, Enlightened, Chaps. 15, 17; Wilbur, History 2: 394–97; Wright, Beginnings, pp. 213–17. Sugirtharajah, Bible, Chap. 1 (quotation, p. 53). Ibid., p. 53. Ray and Bandyopadhyay are now preferred. See the introduction, note 3, for why I employ Roy in Rammohun’s case. CRR 2: 754–55, 760–64; Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 10–13, 15; Collet, Life, pp. 1–6; Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 5–6. CRR 2: 755, 764–67; Carpenter, Review, pp. 25, 101–102; Collet, Life, pp. 14–15; Killingley, Rammohun, p. 6. Ray, “Introduction,” pp. 7–11; Sarkar, “Rammohun,” pp. 52–53; and Ahmed, “Rammohun,” p. 91. For supporting passages in the Tuhfat, see EWG 4: 948, 950–54, 957–58. Abid U. Ghazi, quoted in Robertson, Rammohan, p. 26. Robertson disputes this assessment. Ray, Religious, pp. 20–27; for a critical discussion of Ray’s claims, see Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 49–52. Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 24–30, 166. Bayly, Empire, Chap. 5. See also Hardy, Muslims, pp. 17–19, and Lelyveld, Aligarh’s, pp. 30–31, 33. Majumdar, “Religion,” p. 78; Ahmed, “Rammohun,” pp. 92, 96–97; Ray, Religious, p. 75; Potts, British, p. 231; Singh, Rammohun, p. 129. Ray, Religious, pp. 73–75, 77, 79–83 (quotation, p. 77). Shackel, “English,” p. 322. Bayly, Empire, pp. 73–78, 229–35. See also Fisher, “Resident.” CRR 1: 16–17; 2: 923–40, 1170–73; Collett, Life, pp. 15, 24, 54–57. TA, pp. iii–iv. CRR 2: 1075, 1083–84. Fitzclarence, Journal, pp. 106–107. Ibid. For a list, see Collet, Life, pp. 98–100. Slightly different accounts of these publications are found in Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 30–31, 74–81, and Killingley, Rammohun, p. 86. Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 133, 137, 145, 147, 163, 168–72; Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 81, 99–100; Killingley, “Rammohun,” pp. 146–47, 156; Killingley, Only, pp. 22–29. Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 116–19, 142, 161–63, 170–75; Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 68–70, 73–76, 81, 99, and “Rammohun,” pp. 146–47; Singh, Rammohun, pp. 134–36. Quotation from Rammohun Roy, Translation of the Ishopanishad (1816), EWG 1: 73 [EWNB 2: 51].



2

187

28. Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 32–35, 110–64; Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 39–41, 64–67, 81, 86–106; Killingley, “Rammohun,” pp. 145–59; Sen, Biography, I, pp. 27–28, 31; Mittra, “Rammohun,” pp. 368–73. 29. Excellent accounts can be found in Killingley, “Rammohun” and Rammohun, pp. 64–67; Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 32–39; and Singh, Rammohun, pp. 129–50. 30. Collet, Life, pp. 68, 74–75, 100–101; Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 33–35. 31. CRR 2: 756. 32. Rammohun Roy, Translation of the Cena Upanishad (1816), EWG 1: 35–36 [EWNB 2: 13–14]. See also Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 87, 112, and Killingley, Rammohun, p. 35. 33. TA; Digby’s preface (p. iv) hints that Rammohun sent the pamphlets reprinted here. 34. Monthly Magazine 43 (1817): 391–98 (quotation, p. 391); 44 (1818): 484–86; and 45 (1818): 123–25. 35. Leask, British, pp. 135–36, 139–40. 36. AW. Stephen Hay suggests that Deocar Schmid produced this translation (Dialogue, pp. 4–5). This cannot be, since Schmid indicates in 1819 that he still had only read extracts from the English version that forms the basis of the 1817 German translation: Schmid, Christian, p. 6. 37. MsR (1816): 370–75; Carpenter, Last, pp. 21–22. 38. Deocar Schmid, letter dated Calcutta, December 1, 1819, CMS: C I 1/ 0 255/1 (North India Mission). 39. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 3–22; Evangelical Magazine and Missionary Chronicle, (1817): 398–99, 414; AJ 3 (1817): 9; AJ 5 (1818): 465–68; AJ 6 (1818): 141–45; MsR (1817): 366; MsR (1818): 450, 518–23; CR 4 (1818): 2–3; MR 13 (1818): 299–301, 512; MR 14 (1819): 561–69; MR 15 (1820): 1–7; Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine 4 (1818): 141–48; Moore, Rammohun, pp. 121–22. 40. North American Review (Boston) 6 (1818): 386–93. 41. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 8, 12–18; North American Review 6 (1818): 387; Evangelical Magazine and Missionary Chronicle (1817): 398–99; Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine 4 (1818): 143; MR 14 (1819): 561–69 (quotation, p. 568); MR 15 (1820): 1–7 (quotation, p. 5). More critical views are in MsR (1816): 371; Schmid, Christian, pp. iii, 2, 7, 13, 16–20; and FI (MS) 2 (1819): 364–73. 42. Rammohun’s appeal to scriptural authority is discussed in Sen, Biography, I, pp. 64–65. 43. See for example Thomas Rees’ preface to PJ1, pp. iii, ix (quotation). A lecture William J. Fox gave in late 1818 and letters penned by Deocar Schmid in 1819 confirm that Rammohun was the talk of London by this time: Fox, Course, pp. 117–18; and Schmid, letter dated Calcutta, April 9, 1818 [sic: 1819?], CMS: C I 1/E2/36 (Calendar of Correspondence, India); and letter dated Calcutta, December 1, 1819, CMS: C I 1/ 0 255/1 (North India Mission). See also the mention of “the celebrated Brahmin Ram Mohun Roy” attending services at St. Andrew’s Church, Calcutta in the MC, September 11, 1819, p. 3. 44. See the excerpt from Rammohun’s letter included in Digby’s preface to the London edition of the Abridgment (TA, p. v). This depiction was frequently used: Fitzclarence, Journal, pp. 106–107; Schmid, Christian, p. 2; and MR 14 (1819): 568. 45. Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 37–38, 57, 96. 46. Robertson, Rammohan, p. 88. For examples of this familiarity with the vocabulary of European rational theism, see Rammohun Roy, Translation of an Abridgement of the Vedant (1816), EWG 1: 4–5, 7–8, 12–13 [EWNB 2: 60–61, 63–64, 68–69]. 47. Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 112–13. Instances of Europeans seeing Rammohun as a Deist can be found in Fitzclarence, Journal, p. 106, and MR 16 (1821): 528.



NOTES

48. 49. 50. 51.

52. 53. 54. 55. 56.

57. 58. 59. 60. 61.

62. 63.

64. 65. 66. 67. 68.

69. 70. 71.

NOTES Ray, “Introduction,” p. 7. Sugirtharajah adds Jainism to the list (Bible, p. 10). Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 165–81; Collet, Life, pp. 97–100 (editors’ note). See appendix A. Robert Montgomery Martin wrote that “Rammohun Roy was a Lutheran with the churchman, a Unitarian with Dr Carpenter, a follower of Moses and the Prophets with the Jews, a pure Hindoo, or rather Budheist [sic] with a few of his countrymen, and a good Mussulman with the disciples of Mahomet” (“Rajah”). Elsewhere, Martin called Rammohun a “pure Deist” (“Rammohun,” p. 390). Killingley, Rammohun, p. 160. Killingley’s interpretation finds support in Hatcher, “Remembering,” p. 58, and Sen, Biography 1: 136. Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 127, 147. Drummond, Doctrine, dedication page and pp. 15–16, 23–24fn, 26, 48, 54, 62, 68–69fn, 75, 78. Drummond also dedicated his volume to William Ellery Channing. Schmid, Christian, pp. iii–iv, 1–2, 7. CMS: C I 1/E2/36 (Calendar of Correspondence, India), letter dated Calcutta, April 9, 1818 [sic: 1819?]; CMS: C I 1/ 0 255/1 (North India Mission), letter dated Calcutta December 1, 1819. ChR, April 28, 1827, p. 66; see also CRR 1: 349–50. The letter is dated Calcutta, December 28, 1824. CRR 1: 352–53. Le Bas, Life, I, pp. 178–79. CR 4 (1818): 3. Rammohun Roy, Preface to the Mandukya Upanisad (1817), trans. Dermot Killingley, in Killingley, Only, pp. 22–29; Killingley, “Rammohun” pp. 146–47, 156. See also Robertson, Rammohan, p. 168. On this point, see his 1832 autobiographical letter: CRR 2: 756. The committee was formed in 1821, but the earliest membership lists date to later. Scholars often cite an 1827 letter by William Adam as containing the earliest list (Collet, Life, p. 131). A printed report of the committee, however, contains a list of subscribers, as of December 9, 1825, to a fund to create a permanent Unitarian mission. Among the eight subscribers are Gordon, Tagore, and Rammohun: Christian Examiner (Boston) 3 (1826): 168. Kling, Partner, pp. 41–42; CRR 2: 751, 757, 1060, 1128. Christian Examiner (Boston) 5 (1828): 177; ChR, October 25, 1828, p. 170, and December 6, 1828, p. 195. As discussed in chapter 8, the circulation of British Unitarian periodicals in Calcutta is important to this story. For these events, see Singh, Rammohun, pp. 244–47, 258–60; Collet, Life, pp. 121–24, 131–32; Crawford, Ram Mohan, pp. 66–67; and Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 143–44. [Rammohun Roy], The Precepts of Jesus (1820), EWG 3: 481–543 [EWNB 5: 1–54]. The consensus today is that the gospels of Matthew and Luke relied on that of Mark for some of these common passages, and on a lost sayings book known as Q for others: Ehrman, Lost, p. 57; James M. Robinson, “History of Q Research,” in Robinson et al., Critical, pp. xix–lxxi. Schofield, Enlightened, pp. 30–36; Priestley, Harmony Greek, “Preface”; Priestley, Harmony English, “Preface.” Sugirtharajah sees Rammohun and Thomas Jefferson as literalists, believing that the recorded words of Jesus were actually spoken by him (Bible, pp. 56–57). Singh, Rammohun, pp. 220–43; Collet, Life, pp. 115–45, 156–61; Potts, British, pp. 236–39; Crawford, Ram Mohan, pp. 48–62; and Thomas, Acknowledged, pp. 1–37.



188

189

72. Roy, Precepts, EWG 3: 483–85 [EWNB 5: 3–4]; Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 138–39. For the private letter, see CRR 1: 54–55. 73. FI (MS) 3 (1820): 23–31 (quotations, pp. 29–30). Marshman’s comments form an addendum to Schmid’s review. 74. CR 4 (1818): 3; MR 13 (1818): 299. 75. Priestley, Harmony English, “Preface to English Edition,” p. iii; Wilbur, History 2: 338–39; Schofield, Enlightened, pp. 207–10; NTIV, pp. iii–iv. 76. Metzger, Text, p. 119. 77. Quarterly Review 1 (1809): 316. 78. MR 4 (1809): 375; MR 8 (1813): 490–91; MR 12 (1817): 81–86, 145–51; and Carpenter, Examination, pp. 71–72fn, 303–41. 79. NTIV, pp. 2–3fn, 120–21fn (quotation, p. 3fn). 80. Quarterly Review 1 (1809): 320–30 (quotations, pp. 323, 326). 81. Some critics were less severe, censuring the Unitarians for “their bold and reckless treatment of the Word of God”: Scoresby, Memorial, p. 77. 82. MR 4 (1809): 420–26; MR 8 (1813): 491–94; MR 9 (1814): 418, 495, 785–86; Carpenter, Examination, pp. 18–21. 83. MR 4 (1809): 97–103 (quotation, p. 98), 152–59, 216–21, 274–81, 384–90, pp. 566–68, 677–79, 733–38; Carpenter, Examination. 84. MR 8 (1813): 490 (quotation); Fox, Course, pp. 144–45. For background on the controversial verse, see Metzger, Text, pp. 101–102. 85. MR 8 (1813): 490; MR 14 (1819): 626; MR 16 (1821): 109–113, 169–73, 238–41 (quotation, p. 239), 299–304, 359–61; Carpenter, Examination, pp. 86–89. 86. I rely here on Ehrman, Lost. 87. Priestley, History 1: 1–10, 18–20, 70; Schofield, Enlightened, p. 206; NTIV, pp. 2–3fn, 120–21fn. For the Ebionites and Marcionites, see Ehrman, Lost, pp. 99–109. 88. This paragraph relies on Ehrman, Lost. 89. Quarterly Review 1 (1809): 322–26. For Epiphanius, see Ehrman, Lost, pp. 102–103, 198–201. 90. Quoted in Ehrman, Lost, p. 108. 91. MR 16 (1821): 359. 92. MR 4 (1809): 377, 619–20 (quotation, p. 620); MR 9 (1814): 419, 492; MR 14 (1819): 496; Carpenter, Examination, pp. 70–72fn, 83–86, 350fn. 93. For examples of these controversies, see Wilbur, History 2: 219–35, and Schofield, Enlightened, pp. 225–26, 229–35. 94. Watts, Christian, p. 142; Tomkins, Sober, pp. v–viii. 95. Without providing evidence, P. K. Sen argues that the Serampore missionaries objected to the Precepts for mutilating the gospels “beyond recognition” (Biography, I, p. 89). 96. The fullest treatment of this story can be found in Eugene R. Sheridan’s introduction to JE. 97. As S. Cromwell Crawford notes, Rammohun would later cite verses from the opening chapters of Matthew and Luke suggesting he believed in the virgin birth: Ram Mohan, p. 82 (see also Crawford’s essay in Sharma, Neo-Hindu, p. 32). The passage Crawford cites must be read in context. Rammohun was making the point that no rational person could believe that a supposed godhead—the Holy Spirit—had had sexual intercourse with Mary; less offensive to reason and the idea of divine power was the possibility of a miraculous conception. A few pages later, Rammohun added that calling Mary the “Mother of God” reduced Christianity to the “grossly absurd and contemptible” level of Hinduism: Roy, Second Appeal to the Christian Public, in Defence of “The Precepts of Jesus” (1821), EWG 3: 618–19, 632 (quotation) [EWNB 6: 46–47, 58 (quotation)]. This



NOTES

98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103. 104. 105. 106. 107.

108. 109. 110. 111. 112.

113. 114.

115. 116. 117.

118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123.

124.

NOTES suggests that Rammohun omitted the miraculous conception from the Precepts because he never believed in it other than as an abstract possibility. Roy, Precepts, EWG 3: 487–92, 495–97, 512–13, 520–21, 522–23 [EWNB 5: 5–9, 12–14, 27–28, 34–35, 36]; JE, pp. 73–79, 83–84, 145–63, 177–79. JE, pp. 101–105, 137, 277–97. Roy, Precepts, EWG 3: 503, 541 [EWNB 5: 19, 52]. Sugirtharajah, Bible, pp. 9, 33–38, 45–47, 55. Sheridan, “Introduction,” JE, pp. 3–9. Abundant evidence of these views is found in Jefferson’s letters printed in the appendix to this volume. Ibid., pp. 9–12 (quotation, p. 11); Henry Wilder Foote, “Introduction,” JB1, p. 18. See also Malone, Jefferson 3: 480–83; and Brodie, Jefferson, pp. 29, 54–55, 129, 325–26. Schofield, Enlightened, pp. 317–28. Sherdian, “Introduction,” JE, pp. 14–30. Ibid., pp. 14–16 (quotation, p. 15). For relevant passages, see Priestley, History, I, Part One; for an analysis of this work, see Schofield, Enlightened, pp. 216–34. Sheridan, “Introduction,” JE, pp. 19–25. For the syllabus and letters accompanying it sent to Rush and others, see the appendix to JE, pp. 331–38. The quotation is from the syllabus ( JE, p. 333). Jefferson to Benjamin Rush, April 21, 1803, JE, p. 331. Sheridan, “Introduction,” JE, p. 26. Priestley, Harmony Greek, pp. v–xvii. See also MR 10 (1815): 548, and Schofield, Enlightened, pp. 31–37. Jefferson to Priestley, January 29, 1804, JE, p. 340. Sheridan, “Introduction” and “The Reconstruction of ‘The Philosophy of Jesus’ ”; Jefferson to Charles Clay, January 29, 1815; and Jefferson to Charles Thomson, January 9, 1815 [1816], JE, pp. 27–28, 48–49, 363–66 (quotation, pp. 364–65). Sheridan, “Introduction,” JE, pp. 37–38. Sheridan, “Introduction”; Jefferson to John Adams, August 22, 1813; Jefferson to Jared Sparks, November 4, 1820; and Jefferson to James Smith, December 8, 1822, JE, pp. 34–37, 347–49, 401–402, 408–410 (quotations, pp. 348, 401, 409). The published version of the syllabus and letter to Rush are in MR 11 (1816): 573–76. Hill, Milton, pp. 492–95 (quotation, p. 492). Lieb, Theological, pp. 226–32; Marshall, “Locke,”and Locke. MR 10 (1815): 12–13fn (quotation, p. 13fn); CR 11 (1825): 426–27. For the later scholarship, see Wallace, Antitrinitarian 1: 304–22, and 3: 399–468; McLachlan, Religious; McLachlan, Newton; and McLachlan, Socinianism, pp. 325–31. Lieb, Theological, pp. 248–54 (quotation, p. 248); Mineka, “Critical,” pp. 116–17, 130–31. MR 8 (1813): 27–31, 114–15, 323–27, 388–91, 653–57. Wallace, Antitrinitarian 1: 172–73, and 3: 328–57, 418; McLachlan, Religious, pp. 3–66; and McLachlan, Socinianism, pp. 160–62, 189–90. For a perceptive account, see Leib, Theological, Chaps. 7–8. Mineka, Dissidence, pp. 84–86; Lieb, Theological, p. 255; Lieb, “Doctrina,” pp. 172–230. MR 20 (1825): 710–13, and 21 (1826): 590–94, 657–63, 724–31. See also Mineka, “Critical,” pp. 117–47; Mineka, Dissidence, pp. 86–96; and Lieb, Theological, p. 256. MR 20 (1825): 609–13, 687–92, 748–50 (quotation, p. 692). Aspland also published a review of De Doctrina Christiana by J. T. Rutt in his other journal, and Rutt too claimed Milton, Locke, and Newton to the fold: see CR 11 (1825): 236–42, 281–85, 317–19, 353–59, 386–90, and, especially, 421–27.



190

191

125. MR 11 (1816): 573–76; 12 (1817): 647–51; 15 (1820): 692; 18 (1823): 39–41, 533–34 (quotation, p. 533); 19 (1824): 328–29; and 21 (1826): 61, 185, 494, 572, 625–26, 637–51, 743–44, 748–49. For Jefferson’s letter to Sparks, see JE, pp. 401–402. 126. Sheridan, “Introduction,” “Reconstruction,” and “ ‘The Life and Moral of Jesus’: A History of the Text,” JE, pp. 3, 45, 125–26. 127. The East India Company drew many Scots into its employment (Bryant, “Scots,” 22–41). An early list of European members of the Calcutta Unitarian Committee includes several Scots (including Gordon) either in the Company’s service or engaged in private trade: Collet, Life, p. 131fn. 128. Roy, Precepts, EWG 3: 483–84 [EWNB 5: 3]. To substantiate his claims about the unreliability of the Apostles, Rammohun cited contradictory passages in Acts, 1 Corinthians and Galatians regarding observance of Jewish law.

3


1. MR 16 (1821): 477–85, 515, 527–28; and 17 (1822): 393–400, 682–90, 754–55. 2. Marshman, Defence; PJ1, pp. iii, vi–xiv, xvii–xviii; PJ2, pp. iii, vi–xiv, xvii–xviii. 3. In December 1823 the Unitarian Society rushed into print a London edition of Rammohun’s Final Appeal to the Christian Public. This edition was paginated to correspond with that of PJ1 (FAL, “Advertisement”). The following year the Unitarian Society republished this along with the Precepts and first two Appeals from the 1823 London edition, creating PJ2. FAL and PJ2 have the same portrait of Rammohun in profile, reproduced here as figure 3.1. The artist is unknown. 4. MR 19 (1824), frontispiece. 5. The engraving is part of a collection of portraits collected by Jared Sparks, who corresponded with Rammohun when a Unitarian minister in Baltimore. See Sparks, Catalogue, Item 2107, p. 144. Sparks’ library, including the engraving, is held by Cornell University Library, Division of Rare and Manuscript Collections (call number Rare Books arX913). 6. Shaw, “Calcutta,” pp. 92–95, 107; BL, APAC, Prints and Drawings, P582. In some sources, his name is rendered as de Savignhac. 7. Anonymous, Second, p. 86; Bengal Almanac, p. 211; AJ 20 (1825): 450. 8. AJ 20 (1825): 450. 9. Shaw, “Calcutta”; for the transition to print, see also Bayly, Empire, pp. 238–43. 10. ChR, February 14, 1823, p. 107. 11. CRR 1: 66–75. One of Rammohun’s letters is dated October 17, 1822 and would have reached Sparks in early 1823, about the time that the Christian Register reported the presence of the miniature engraving in Boston. It is possible that Sparks received a copy of Savignhac’s engraving from Rammohun at this time, or he could have acquired the engraving after he moved to Boston in 1823. 12. Next to nothing has surfaced regarding the origin of the profile image of Rammohun that the Unitarians published in 1823 and 1824 (see note 3 to this chapter). In 1831 James Sutherland referred to “new impressions of an engraved likeness formerly sent from India” that were for sale in every print shop in Liverpool during Rammohun’s visit there (BH, August 18, 1831) These were probably similar to the lithograph published in Alexander’s East India Magazine that same year (AEI 1 [1830–1831], facing p. 557), which was based on Savignhac’s 1822 engraving or the copy of it produced by the Unitarians in 1823 and 1824. 13. Roy, An Appeal to the Christian Public, in Defence of “The Precepts of Jesus” (1820), EWG 3: 555, 557 [EWNB 5: 64, 65]. For the heathen charge, see FI (MS) 3 (1820): 29.



NOTES

NOTES

14. [Marshman], “Observations on certain ideas contained in the Introduction to ‘the Precepts of Jesus’ . . .”, FI (QS) 1 (1820–1821), pp. 88–119. 15. The Asiatic Journal, for instance, labeled him now a Socinian: AJ 11 (1821): 581–82, and 15 (1823): 120, 442fn. 16. Roy, Second Appeal, EWG 3: 588–89 [EWNB 6: 20]. For similar arguments, see NTIV, p. 110fn, and Carpenter, Examination, p. xxxvii. For Marshman’s argument, see FI (QS) 1 (1820–1821): 93–94. 17. Roy, Second Appeal, EWG 3: 590–92 [EWNB 6: 21–23]; Fox, Apostle, pp. 14–21. For Marshman’s claim, see FI (QS) 1 (1820–1821): 94–95. 18. Roy, Second Appeal, EWG 3: 594–97 [EWNB 6: 25–28]. For parallel arguments, see Carpenter, Examination, p. 23, and NTIV, p. 583fn. Marshman’s argument is found in FI (QS) 1 (1820–1821): 97–98. 19. Priestley, History 1: 181–82, 201–20; Roy, Second Appeal, EWG 3: 601 [EWNB 6: 31]. For other examples, see NTIV, p.47fn, and MR 9 (1814): 755, 775. Marshman’s interpretation is in FI (QS) 1 (1820–1821): 104. For Priestley and figurative language, see Schofield, Enlightened, pp. 71–72. 20. Roy, Second Appeal, EWG 3: 603–604 [EWNB 6: 33–34]; Priestley, History 1: 154–55, 168–69, 208–211; MR 10 (1815): 518–19; Carpenter, Examination, pp. 365–66. 21. Roy, Second Appeal, EWG 3: 633, 665 (quotation, p. 633) [EWNB 6: 59–60, 88 (quotation, p. 60)]. For similar comments, see Carpenter, Examination, p. 387fn, and Fox, Apostle, pp. 30–31. 22. Roy, Second Appeal, EWG 3: 578, 590–91, 593, 597, 630, 655, 664 (quotation, p. 593) [EWNB 6: 12, 22, 24, 28, 57, 79, 87 (quotation, p. 24)]. 23. Roy, Second Appeal, EWG 3: 666–67 [EWNB 6: 89–90]. 24. Le Bas, Life 2: 222–23. 25. Roy, Second Appeal, EWG 3: 663–64 [EWNB 6: 87]; NTIV, pp. 202fn, 343fn; Fox, Apostle, pp. 9–10. 26. Roy, Second Appeal, EWG 3: 582–83, 623, 630, 632, 675 (quotations, p. 632) [EWNB 6: 15, 51, 57–58, 97 (quotations, p. 58)]. 27. Roy, Final Appeal to the Christian Public in Defence of “The Precepts of Jesus” (1823), EWG 3: 680, 686–693, 706, 721–22, 726, 740, 742–43fn, 747 (quotation, pp. 689–90); and 4: 766, 768, 777, 821–22, 832, 848, 865, 873. For the acquisition of the Improved Version, see CRR 1: 163–64. 28. Roy, Final Appeal, EWG 3: 700, 703–706, 720, 726, 739, 748 (quotations, pp. 706, 726,); and 4: 834–35, 874. 29. Ibid. 3: 692, 701–702, 713, 725, 728, (quotations, pp. 701, 725); and 4: 817, 858, 872–73 (quotations, p. 858) 30. Wilbur, History 2: 322–29; Fox, Course, p. 90; MR (NS) 4: (1830): 246–47. 31. Thomas Rees’ preface indicates there was some uneasiness in the society about “circulating, under their authority, a work which maintains [Jesus’] pre-existence, and super-angelic rank and dignity”: PJ1 and PJ2, pp. xvii–xviii. 32. Carpenter, Review, pp. 28–29, 112; Porter, Growth, pp. 28fn, 42, 47. 33. MR 11 (1816): 545; Carpenter, Examination, pp. 64–65. 34. MR 17 (1822): 689; Carpenter, Review, pp. 82–83, 85. Carpenter added to this belief in the resurrection of Jesus, to which he claimed Rammohun also subscribed (p. 32). 35. CRR 1: 163–90, 317–25, 386–92; Collet, Life, pp. 132–34. 36. For examples of this Unitarian strategy, see MR (NS) 5 (1831): 417, and Christian Reformer; or, Unitarian Magazine and Review 4 (1837): 360; for criticism, see Christian Observer, 34 (1834): 669–70.



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37. MR 16 (1821): 477–85; MR 17 (1822): 755; MR 18 (1823): 433–39, 473–79; MR 19 (1824): 661; Carpenter, Review, pp. 39, 111; Buckingham, “Sketch,” pp. 116–17. For Drummond, see chapter 2, note 54. 38. Porter, Growth, pp. 47–49. William Drummond made a similar case. Although he did not mention their names, Drummond clearly had in mind the appeals of Watts and Martin Tomkins (Learned, pp. 4–10). Robert Aspland also alluded to Rammohun as this umpire (Future, pp. 2, 21–22). Other Unitarians depicted Rammohun as an unbiased reader who concluded, after diligent study, that the Trinity was not scriptural: MR 16 (1821): 485; MR 18 (1823): 434, 473; CJ, August 1, 1821, p. 405; Carpenter, Review, p. 39. 39. FI (MS) 3 (1820): 30; CJ, August 2, 1821, p. 420. W. H. Mill, however, thought Rammohun merely a cipher for Unitarians: Le Bas, Life 2: 432–33. 40. Buckingham, “Sketch,” p. 117. 41. AEI 1 (1830–1831): 559. The author, Robert Montgomery Martin, and his relationship to Rammohun are discussed in chapter 7. 42. Liverpool Chronicle, April 16, 1831, p. 127. 43. The Satirist (London), April 24, 1831, p. 19 (accessed through BLP, RMR [#35]). 44. Literary Gazette, June 4, 1831, pp. 353–355. 45. MsR (1831): 206–207, and (1832): 34 (quotation). 46. AJ (NS) 12 (1833): 199, 201–202, 210–211; Court Journal, October 5, 1833, p. 678. 47. Gentleman’s Magazine 103, part 2 (1833): 366; for the original, see Carpenter, Review, p. 111. 48. Freeman’s Journal and Daily Commercial Advertiser, July 2, 1839 (accessed through BLN, RR [#53]). 49. ChR, August 13, 1831, p. 130. 50. BH, August 18, 1831; Sutherland, “Reminiscences.” 51. Martineau, Autobiography 1: 155, and 3: 47–49. For Bowring’s speech, see MR (NS) 5 (1831): 418–19. 52. MR (NS) 5 (1831): 417–18; Martineau recorded Rammohun’s puzzlement at the “clapping and cheering” for him (Autobiography 3: 49). The great enthusiasm for Rammohun is confirmed by a newspaper account: MC, May 26, 1831. 53. Benjamin Mardon to Lant Carpenter, April 19, 1831, LCC. See also CRR 2: 1086–1088. 54. Sometimes Rammohun declined invitations: Garnett and Garnett, Life, pp. 146–47. 55. Entry for October 17, 1831, Henry Crabb Robinson Diary, vol. 14 (December 1, 1828– June 18, 1832), pp. 96–97, DWL. 56. See the accession file for the portrait at BAG. For a review of the portrait while exhibited at the Royal Academy, see La Belle Assemblée, June 1832, p. 285 (accessed through BLP, RR [#77]). 57. CRR 2: 716–18, 770–72, 778, 781–84, 788–95, 804–805; Carpenter, Last, pp. 113–21. 58. Rammohun Roy to Elizabeth Jesser Reid, January 6 and May 22, 1832, and June 3, 1833, RHUL, BC RF103/8/29–31. 59. Le Breton, Memoirs, pp. 151–52, 230–31; Baillie, View. The Literary Gazette noted the shared Arianism of Rammohun and Baillie: Literary Gazette, June 4, 1831, p. 353. 60. Roscoe, Life 1: 27–29, and 2: 314–17, 333–34. For the reception, see Sutherland, “Reminiscences”; for the eyewitness account, see ChR, August 13, 1831, p. 130. 61. This paragraph is based on Wright, Beginnings; Robinson, Unitarians and Channing. 62. Lavan, Unitarians, pp. 58–66; CCR 1: 66–75, 266–316, 349–56, and 2: 729–32; Moore, Rammohun, pp. 150–53.



NOTES

NOTES

63. Andrews Norton to Rammohun Roy, April 16, 1823 and August 1826, Andrews Norton Papers, MS Am 1089, Letter Book B (1286), pp. 78–80, 87–90, HL. 64. Moore, Rammohun, pp. 50–52, 125–27. 65. PJ3. Engravers William B. Annin and George G. Smith were partners during most of the period 1820–1833: Falk, Who 1: 119, and 3: 3077. 66. ChR, March 11, 18, 25, and April 1, 1826, pp. 39, 44, 48, 53; Olive Branch and Christian Inquirer (New York) 1, no. 2 (May 24, 1828): 32, and 1, no. 5 (June 14, 1828): 80. 67. New-York Review 1 (November 1825): 442–55. 68. Moore, Rammohun, pp. 126–45. 69. Lavan, Unitarians, p. 58; Adam, Letter, preface. 70. Moore, Rammohun, pp. 156–65; Lavan, Unitarians, pp. 35, 38–39, 51–53, 65–66. For examples of the debate, see Christian Watchman (Boston), September 11, 1824, p. 159; Universalist Magazine (Boston), April 28, 1827, p. 179; and Christian Examiner 3 (1826): 361–69, and 5 (1828): 94–95. 71. For a list of the articles, see Moore, Rammohun, pp. 97–114. 72. ChR, May 7, 1824, p. 154. William Adam advanced a similar argument: ChR, November 5, 1824, p. 357. See also ChR, May 24, 1822, p. 162; and July 9, 1825, p. 106. 73. ChR, September 10 and 17, 1824, pp. 226, 230; April 21 and 28, 1827, pp. 62, 66; and October 25 and December 6, 1828, pp. 170, 194. 74. ChR, June 7, 1822, p. 170. For the published extracts, see ChR, July 5, 12, 19, and 26, and August 2, 9, 16, 23, and 30, 1822. 75. The ads ran frequently between April and July 1826. For an example, see ChR, April 29, 1826, p. 67. The images offered for sale were most likely copies of the 1825 Annin and Smith engraving. 76. ChR, July 9, 1825, p. 106, and May 13, 1826, p. 73 (quotation). 77. ChR, April 28, 1827, p. 66. Mention of Rammohun as both author and publisher of this tract indicates that the reference is to the Final Appeal, which Rammohun was forced to publish on his own (Roy, Final Appeal, EWG 3: 683). 78. PJ4. As with the 1825 edition, the title page indicates that this was taken “From the London Edition.” 79. ChR, February 24, 1827, p. 31. For an example of the ad, see ChR, March 3, 1827, p. 35. 80. For example, see ChR, June 7, 1828, p. 91. The account of Rammohun’s religious progression, including the comment about the Final Appeal, initially appeared in ChR, May 24, 1828, p. 82. 81. See appendix A for this. 82. ChR, April 17, 1830, p. 61; June 18, August 6 and 13, October 29, and December 10, 1831, pp. 97, 125–26, 173, 198; October 6 and November 10, 1832, pp. 158, 177; March 22, April 19, and November 1, 1834, pp. 45–46, 61, 46 [sic]; and January 24, 1835, p. 94. For Fox’s sermon, see appendix A. 83. ChR, March 6, 1830, p. 39; and August 13 and December 10, 1831, pp. 130, 198; also ChR, May 16, 1823, p. 158. 84. Andrews Norton to Rammohun Roy, August 1826, Andrews Norton Papers, MS Am 1089, Letter Book B (1286), pp. 87–90, HL. 85. Cabot, Memoir, I, p. 81. Emerson’s phrasing recalls that of Reed, who proclaimed ten converts such as Rammohun worth ten thousand of the “hireling converts” made by Trinitarian missionaries (ChR, July 9, 1825, p. 106). 86. PJ5 and SAL. PJ5 uses Cook’s likeness as a frontispiece. Little is known of Cook (fl. 1819–1849), a portrait engraver. The British Museum owns some of his works and has only sketchy biographical details regarding him: http://www.britishmuseum.org/research/



194

87.

88.

89. 90. 91.

92. 93. 94. 95.

96. 97.

98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103.

195

search_the_collection_database/term_details.aspx?bioId=128627 (accessed May 11, 2010). See also Hunnisett, Illustrated, p. 23. I am grateful to Michael Leslie for helping locate information about Cook. Miller, Pursuit, pp. 217–20. Peale’s Unitarianism, its influence on his art, and his dependence on Unitarian patrons are explored in ibid., pp. 129–38, 216. For Rammohun’s letter to Peale, see CRR II: 805–807. TCD. The title page lists this as the “Second London Edition.” This work is not listed in the bibliography of Rammohun’s publications compiled by the editors of Collet’s Life (pp. 525–41). Copies can be found in Dr. Williams’s Library, London, and Andover– Harvard Theological Library, Harvard University. Short, “Presbyterians,” p. 240; Mineka, Dissidence, pp. 186–87. Milton, Treatise. Christian Examiner 3 (1826): 29–75, 361–69. See also the review of the 1825 New York edition of Rammohun’s works, where the reviewer writes of “anxiously waiting for the forthcoming republication in this country of Milton’s Treatise on the Christian Doctrine”: New-York Review 1 (November 1825): 443. The Christian Register contained side-by-side columns discussing Milton’s prose works and Rammohun’s progression to Christianity (ChR, January 7 and May 20, 1826, pp. 1–2, and 78). William Ellery Channing also thought highly of De Doctrina Christiana, placing its author in the company of Locke and Newton as one of the great thinkers rejecting the Trinity (Robinson, Channing, pp. 18–19). Channing corresponded with Rammohun and invited the Bengali to visit him in America (CRR 2: 728–32). There were some anxieties on this point: see appendix A. William Roscoe to Lord Brougham, April 15, 1831, LRC: Roscoe Papers, 920 ROS, 514; Roscoe, Life 2: 317–19; CRR 2: 1069–71. CRR 1: 75–84 (esp. pp. 77–79), and 2: 1048; Rammohun Roy to Jeremy Bentham, July 13, 1831, BL: Bentham Papers, Add. Mss. 33546, ff. 506–507. Sandford Arnot [on behalf of Rammohun Roy] to William Smith, June 3, 1831, and Rammohun Roy to William Smith, May 30, 1833, BL, Add. Mss. 59655, ff. 140–42. Smith’s hosting of Whig gatherings is discussed in Davis, Dissent, p. 98. Bayly, “Rammohan.” By 1817 Rammohun could recite all the Whig arguments against a standing army: Fitzclarence, Journal, p. 106. He likely learned these from Unitarian friends, since Unitarians were prominent in an emerging British peace movement that favored a free militia over standing armies: see Fox, Course, pp. 176, 209–12, 214, 220–30; and Ceadel, Origins, pp. 104–105, 113, 166–221. For Rammohun’s support for repeal, Catholic emancipation, the Whig return to power, and constitutional reform, see Adam, “Lecture,” p. 409. Sutherland, “Reminiscences”; Pamela Edwards, “Boyle [née Monckton], Mary [Maria], Countess of Cork and Orrery (1746–1840),” DNB; White, “Prince,” pp. 526, 530. Roscoe, Life 1: 96, 98, 122–23, 154–55, 183, 215–16. Quoted in Clark, English, p. 445. ChR, August 6, 1831, p. 126. HPD, 3d ser., vol. 4 (1831), cols. 576–78. For the petition, see CRR 1: 545–52, and AJ (NS) 5 (May 1831): 20–21. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 195, 196; Derby Mercury, July 4, 1832, Examiner, July 8, 1832 (both accessed through BLN, RR [#14, 15]). Rammohun was accompanied to the council hearings by J. T. Rutt, the Unitarian author and editor: see Rutt’s letter to the editor, Examiner, October 7, 1832 (accessed through BLN, RR [#17]).



NOTES

NOTES

104. Rammohun Roy to Lord Lansdowne, June 20, 1832, in William Hone Papers, BL, Add. Mss. 40,856. See also CRR 2: 726–28. 105. ChR, August 6, 1831, p. 126. 106. Tomalin, Mrs Jordan’s, pp. 311–12; and George Fitzclarence/earl of Munster, letters to H. H. Wilson, dated 6 [July?] 1827, July 9, 1829, September 10 and 24, 1834, and March 1835: BL, APAC, Eur Mss E301/1, ff. 159–60, 181–82; E301/2, ff. 94–97, 123–24. Fitzclarence never mentions Rammohun by name in these letters, but his reference to “the interest created by one sophisticated man” is suggestive (E301/2, f. 96). 107. Seed, “Gentlemen,” pp. 318–21; Schofield, Enlightened, Chap. 1. It should be noted, however, that the earl of Munster was no Whig when it came to the 1832 Reform Act, which he tried to get his father to prevent from passing (Ziegler, William, pp. 243–44). 108. The oriental volumes and Bible translations are cataloged in Pettigrew, Bibliotheca. 109. Gillen, Royal, Chaps. 25, 27, 29–34, 36 (Morning Chronicle quotations, pp. 209, 210); Van der Kiste, George, pp. 31–32, 46, 70–71, 80–81, 105, 128, 150; Kriegel, Holland, pp. 6, 49–50, 184–85, 187, 190, 198, 220, 232, 239, 371, 391. For the duke’s heterodoxy, see Aspland, Memoir, p. 579n, and Gillen, Royal, pp. 168–69. 110. Aspland, Memoir, pp. 481–89, 578–79n. Supporting evidence comes from the duke’s comments about the Athanasian Creed: “This is but a Creed, and consequently of human invention” (Gillen, Royal, p. 169). For the duke’s habit of making marginal notes in books he owned, see Gillen, Royal, pp. 168–69, and Van der Kiste, George, p. 80. 111. Literary Gazette, July 23, 1831, p. 475; for Rammohun’s invitation, see Minutes of Council of the Royal Asiatic Society, vol. 3, June 18, 1831 session, RAS. 112. For the text of the letter and Sussex’s marginal notes in Rammohun’s volume, see appendix B.

4 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

SLAVERY AND SATI

Anstey, Atlantic; Bolt and Drescher, Anti-Slavery; Temperley, “Anti-Slavery.” Colley, Britons, pp. 352–60; Davis, Slavery, p. 127 (quotation). Harrison, “Genealogy,” p. 122. Harrison, “State,” p. 292; Temperley, “Anti-Slavery,” p. 33; Hollis, “Anti-Slavery,” pp. 294–95. Hollis, “Pressure,” p. 10; Harrison, “Genealogy,” pp. 122–23, 129–31. Harrison, “Genealogy,” p. 124. Ibid., p. 120. Quoted in Anstey, “Pattern,” p. 36. Temperley, British, p. 72. Walkowitz, Prostitution, p. 126; Midgley, Women, pp. 151–53. Rice, “Anti-Slavery,” pp. 17–19. Temperley, British, p. 73. Harrison, “Genealogy,” p. 125; Anstey, Atlantic, pp. 261, 364–65; Manton, Carpenter, pp. 76–77; Herstein, Mid-Victorian, pp. 1–8, 117–23. Harrison, “Genealogy,” pp. 135–36. Ibid., pp. 130–31; Walkowitz, Prostitution, p. 115. Harrison, “Genealogy,” p. 135. Manton, Carpenter, pp. 17–18, 25; Martineau, Autobiography 1: 92–96, and 2: 9–10.



196

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18. Davis, Slavery, pp. 185–86; Fladeland, Men, pp. 178–79; Midgley, Women, pp. 75–76, 122. 19. Midgley, Women, Chaps. 2–3. 20. Ibid., pp. 93–118, 154–55; Midgley, Feminism, Chap. 2. 21. Two recent works of note are Mani, Contentious and Fisch, Tödliche. 22. Nandy, “Sati,” pp. 168–94. 23. Davis, Slavery, pp. 74–82. 24. HPD, vol. 26 (1813), cols. 1072–1074. 25. H. H. Wilson to Capt. R. Benson, Military Secretary to Government, November 25, 1828, BL, APAC, L/L/13 (1030), vol. 3, doc. 9, ff. 231–34. A concise statement of the Company’s official stance on toleration of sati can also be found in an 1827 dispatch to India, a summary of which the Company chairman read to the Court of Proprietors during a debate on sati on June 18, 1828: AJ 26 (1828): 116. 26. Davis, Slavery, pp. 129–53, 165–66; Walvin, “Rise,” pp. 155–56; Grimshawe, Earnest, pp. 1–7; Asiatic Observer (Calcutta) 2 (n.d.[1824]): 365. 27. Mani, Contentious, pp. 137–38 ; HPD, vol. 26 (1813), cols. 859–862, 1066–1067; HPD, 2d ser., vol. 5 (1821), cols. 1217–1222; HPD, 2d ser., vol 9 (1823), cols. 1017–1020; HPD, 2d ser., vol. 13 (1825), col. 1044; Barclay, Buxton, pp. 45, 54–55, 76. 28. Buxton, Memoirs, p. 95; Temperley, British, pp. 94, 103. 29. HPD, 2d ser., vol. 9 (1823), cols. 257–275, 1017–1019. 30. Walvin, “Rise,” p. 154; Davis, Slavery, pp. 175–77; Fladeland, Men, pp. 145–49. 31. HPD, 2d ser., vol. 9 (1823), col. 286. 32. Davis, Slavery, 193. 33. BSP, 1821, vol. 18, no. 749, p. 316. 34. Ibid., p. 318. 35. Mani, Contentious, pp. 18–19. 36. Governor-General (Lord Amherst) in Council letter to the Court of Directors, December 3, 1824, and Governor-General Lord Amherst, Minute of March 18, 1827, in Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 126–29; HPD, 2d ser., vol. 5 (1821), cols. 1221–1222. 37. Fisch, Tödliche, pp. 367–77; Mani, Contentious, pp. 18–20. 38. Mani, Contentious, pp. 18, 137–145, 219fn71 ; Fisch, Tödliche, pp. 404–405; Buchanan, Memoir, 48–50, 94–100, 102–104. 39. Fladeland, Men, pp. 169–71; Walvin, “Rise,” pp. 154, 157; Davis, Slavery, pp. 196–98. 40. Walvin, “Rise,” pp. 157–58; Davis, Slavery, pp. 180–84; Temperley, British, pp. 9–11; Hollis, “Anti-Slavery,” pp. 294–95; Midgley, Women, pp. 103–109. 41. Davis, “Cropper, 1823–1833,” p. 162; for an influential contemporary view of this period, see Stephen, Antislavery, pp. 97–125. 42. Stephen, Antislavery, pp. 118, 122, 154–55, 159–72. 43. Davis, Slavery, pp. 195–98; Temperley, British, pp. 11–12. 44. Temperley, “Anti-Slavery,” pp. 34–35; Stephen, Antislavery, pp. 112–15, 127, 136–41, 159–75. 45. The appeal made its way even to the fashion conscious: see Court Magazine and Belle Assemblée 1 (1832): 104. 46. For a clear indication of this sentiment, see MR (NS) 3 (1829): 835. 47. See “First Report of the Coventry Society for the Abolition of Human Sacrifices in India” (February 1, 1830), in General Baptist Repository (1830): 113–116, esp. 115. 48. RH: MSS Brit. Emp. s 444: Papers of Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, vols. I (pp. 311–13, 349, 357–60), IV (pp. 10, 89), X (pp. 21–24, 25–28, 31–34 [quotations, pp. 23, 25]). Buxton’s notes to his Commons speech on the abolition of sati are much longer than what is recorded in Hansard’s: HPD, 2d ser., vol. 24 (1830), col. 1356.



NOTES

49. 50. 51. 52. 53.

54. 55.

56. 57.

58.

59. 60. 61. 62.

63. 64. 65. 66.

67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74.

75. 76.

NOTES Buxton, Memoirs, p. 198. Fisch, Tödliche, pp. 404–405. Potts, British, pp. 148, 196–98; Johns, Collection. Mani, Contentious, pp. 140–47; Fisch, Tödliche, pp. 404–405. The first two volumes appeared in 1817, while Ward was still in Bengal, and on returning to Britain Ward added two additional volumes in 1820. Hence, the first two volumes state that the third edition comprises two volumes, while the last two volumes list four. Mani, Contentious, p. 148. Ward, View (1817) 2: 47– 61, 92–129; View (1820) 3: Preface (xvii–lv), 277–81; and View (1822) 1: Preface (xliv–liv), xi–xiii, cxix–cxx, 279–81, and 3: 329–35. Quotation from View (1820) 3: Preface (xlvii) and View (1822) 1: Preface (xlvii). Mani, Contentious, pp. 148–49; MsR (1819), pp. 357–59; Ward, Farewell, pp. 62–98. Ward, Farewell, pp. 62–84, 96–98; “Letter from the Rev. W. Ward, Missionary in India, to the Ladies of Liverpool, and of the United Kingdom,” Times, January 3, 1821, p. 3. The Times letter was reprinted in AJ 11 (1821): 141–47. BSP, 1821, vol. 18, no. 749, pp. 295–565; 1823, vol. 17, no. 466, pp. 155–295; 1824, vol. 23, no. 443, pp. 311–71; 1825, vol. 24, nos. 508, 518, pp.223–444; 1826–1827, vol. 20, no. 354, pp. 303–469; 1828, vol. 23, no. 547, pp. 149–76; 1830, vol. 28, no. 178, pp. 783–1067. Fisch, Tödliche, pp. 382–83. Ibid., pp. 388–94. MsR (1823): 250–52; BSP, 1826–1827, vol. 20, no. 354, pp. 307–40. HPD, 2d ser., vol. 13 (1825), cols., 1043–1044; Manchester Guardian, May 12, 1827, p. 3; OH 20 (1829): 544; JHC, 85 (Session 1830), pp. 148, 184, 235; AJ 23 (1827): 356; 407–408, 689, 691; AJ 26 (1828): 116, 119. For examples, see OH 8 (1826): 1–20; Grimshawe, Earnest, pp. 5–6; and Peggs, Suttees’ Cry (1827), pp. 50–68. Letter to the editor of India Gazette, June 1828, reprinted in OH 20 (1829): 349. Mani, Contentious, pp. 23–24; AJ 23 (1827): 358–59. For key examples, see: BSP, 1826–1827, vol. 20, no. 354, pp. 309–337; Grimshawe, Earnest, pp. 8–10, 14–15, 17–33; OH 8 (1826): 2–4, 7–12, 17–18; Peggs, Suttees’ Cry (1827), pp. 15–30, 54–82; Peggs, Suttees’ Cry (1828), pp. 31–50, 57–96; and John Poynder, Speech before Court of Proprietors, March 28, 1827, in AJ 23 (1827): 696–706. MsR 2 (1814): 136–40. Midgley, “Female,” pp. 95–105; Midgley, Feminism, Chap. 3. See also Mani, Contentious, pp. 143–44. Haggis, “White,” pp. 51–53. See also Midgley, Feminism, pp. 95–98, and Mani Contentious, pp. 143–44. Haggis, “White,” p. 53. Midgley, “Female,” 110–12; see also Midgley, Feminism, pp. 121–22. Midgley, Women, pp. 63–64; Midgley, Feminism, pp. 81–83; Colley, Britons, pp. 278–80. Midgley, Women, pp. 62–71. Midgley, “Female,” pp. 95, 106–108. For examples of these female petitions, see AVP, Session 1829, p. 1515; AVP, Session 1830, pp. 52, 148; and General Baptist Repository (1829): 140 [sic: correct pagination is p. 120]. Midgley, Feminism, pp. 80–85 (quotations), and “Female,” pp. 108–109. Midgley, Feminism, pp. 85–86, and Women, p. 69 (quotation).



198

199

77. Midgley, “Female,” p. 108. 78. Ibid., p. 97. 79. For a few examples, see: Marshman, Essays, pp. 2–3 [FI (MS) 1 (1818): 302–303]; Grimshawe, Earnest, pp. 39–41; Peggs, Suttees’ Cry (1827), pp. 23–24; Poynder, Speech, in AJ 23 (1827): 689; and HPD, 2d ser., vol. 5 (1821), col. 1219. 80. Good examples can be found in: MsR, 2 (1814): 136–40; Johns, Collection, pp. 31, 58; Marshman, Essays, pp. 9–10, 13–15, 65 [FI (MS) 1 (1818): 308–309; and 2 (1819): 319–21, 483]; Manchester Guardian, May 12, 1827, p. 3; OH 20 (1829): 185–86; and Poynder, Speech, in AJ 23 (1827): 691–92. 81. The following make plain this strategy: Grimshawe, Earnest, pp. 42–43; Asiatic Observer 2 (1824): 360–61; OH 23 (1829): 461–62. 82. Midgley, Women, pp. 94–102; Midgley, Feminism, pp. 72–73; Mani, Contentious, pp. 31–32, 143–44, 162. 83. Ward, View (1817) 2: 100–111; View (1820) 3: Preface (xliv–xlvii [quotation, xlv]); Farewell, pp. 73–81; and “Letter from the Rev. W. Ward,” Times, January 3, 1821, p. 3. 84. Ward, View (1817) 2: 112; View (1820) 3: Preface (xlviii–xlix), 161–62, 278–81; Farewell, pp. 63–80; and “Letter from the Rev. W. Ward,” Times, January 3, 1821, p. 3. 85. Ward, “Letter from the Rev. W. Ward,” Times, January 3, 1821, p. 3; Farewell, p. 63; and View (1820) 3: Preface (l). 86. Ward, View (1820) 3: Preface (l). 87. Ward, Farewell, pp. 62–63, 81–82. 88. Midgley, Feminism, pp. 74–75. 89. Ward, “Letter from the Rev. W. Ward,” Times, January 3, 1821, p. 3. 90. See, for example, Grimshawe, Earnest, pp. 42–43, Asiatic Observer 2 (1824): 360–61, and OH 23 (1829): 461–62. 91. Peggs, Brief, pp. 4, 32–34; Peggs, Letter, p. 3; Buxton, Memoirs, p. 95. 92. Midgley, “Female,” pp. 106–107, and Feminism, pp. 79–80. 93. This followed the example set by William Johns in his 1816 pamphlet (Collection). Peggs’ pamphlets on sati and other social problems also follow Johns in collecting testimony describing the social problem and the possibility of mitigating it. 94. See, for example, Peggs, India’s Cries (1830), pp. 20–24. 95. Midgley, “Female,” p. 107; Peggs, Suttees’ Cry (1828), p. 91fn; Peggs, India’s Cries (1830), pp. 97–98 (quotation). For Peggs’ enthusiasm for the first female petitions, see his “First Report of the Coventry Society for the Abolition of Human Sacrifices in India,” in General Baptist Repository (1830): 113–116, esp. p. 114. 96. Peggs, India’s Cries (1830), pp. 16–17, 112. 97. Midgley, Women, pp. 29–32. 98. Peggs, India’s Cries (1830), p. 111. 99. OH 20 (1829): 539–45 (quotations, 540, 541, 542); for more on the Coventry society and its campaign, see Midgley, Feminism, p. 79. 100. General Baptist Repository (1829): 140 [sic: 120]. 101. Midgley, “Female,” p. 107, and Feminism, p. 80. 102. Mani, Contentious, plate 5 and Chap. 5 (especially p. 178). 103. Marshman, Essays, p. 65 [FI (MS) 2 (1819): 483]. For a similar image, see Asiatic Observer 2 (1824): 25. 104. Marshman, quoted by William Wilberforce, HPD, vol. 26 (1813), cols. 860–61fn. 105. Manchester Guardian, May 12, 1827, p. 3; Johns, Collection, pp. 28–29.



NOTES

NOTES

106. Fairholme and Pain, Century, Chaps. 1–2; Moss, Valiant, pp. 9–19; Harrison, “Animals,” pp. 788–89. 107. Monthly Magazine, quoted in Fairholme and Pain, Century, pp. 24–25. 108. Joseph Hume, HPD, 2d ser., vol. 5 (1821), col. 1221; OH 1 (1824): 551–52. 109. James Peggs, letter to the Home Secretary, Nov. 6, 1839, NA: HO 44/33. For the suppression of bull running, see Moss, Valiant, pp. 131–33. 110. French, Antivivisection, p. 240. 111. Midgley, “Female,” p. 112. 112. Harrison, “Religion,” pp. 116–17. 113. Lansbury, Old, p. 83. 114. French, Antivivisection, pp. 239–40. 115. Ibid., pp. 242–46. 116. See, for example, ibid., pp. 220, 228. 117. Ibid., p. 252. 118. Ibid., pp. 255, 257, 303, 414. 119. Lansbury, Old, pp. 91, 176. 120. Ibid., pp. 84, 89–90, 94.

5

R AMMOHUN ROY AND EARLY VICTORIAN FEMINISM

1. Collet, Life, pp. 89, 105–106; Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 150–151; Singh, Rammohun, pp. 198–99, 209–211; CRR 1: 27–37; Fisch, Tödliche, pp. 411–12. 2. Mani, Contentious, pp. 47–48, 55–59, 207 (notes 26–27); Singh, Rammohun, pp. 199–212. The March 1819 letter is often misdated as March 1818: CRR 1: 40–41. Most scholars agree that the letter was written by Rammohun under the name of a Tantric saint and friend who knew no English: Collet, Life, pp. 101–102; CRR 1: 41–42; and Killingley, Rammohun, p. 129fn. 3. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 123–26, 130–31, 139–48, 156–63, 165–68, 178–79; Collet, Life, pp. 255–66; Mani, Contentious, pp. 49–54, 59–65; CRR 1: 493–543. 4. Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 30–39, 148–64; Mani, Contentious, pp. 54–57. 5. Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 162–63. 6. Singh, Rammohun, pp. 152–62, 221–23; Potts, British, pp. 230–33. 7. Potts, British, p. 150. 8. Rammohun Roy, Translation of a Conference between an Advocate for, and an Opponent of, the Practice of Burning Widows Alive; from the Original Bungla (1818), EWG 2: 321–32 [EWNB 3: 87–97]. 9. Mani, Contentious, pp. 23, 37–38 ; Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 4, 34. 10. Roy, Translation, EWG 2: 325–28, 330–32 [EWNB 3: 91–93, 95–97]. 11. FI (MS) 1 (1818): 305 (quotation), 308–311 [Marshman, Essays, pp. 5 (quotation), 9–11]. 12. FI (MS) 2 (1819): 319–333 (quotations, 329) [Marshman, Essays, pp. 13–29 (quotations, p. 25)]. 13. FI (MS) 2 (1819): 453–84 [Marshman, Essays, pp. 30–66]; for the identification of the author, see Mani, Contentious, pp. 54, 207 (note 27). 14. FI (MS) 2 (1819): 455, 466–68, 483 [Marshman, Essays, pp. 33, 45–48, 65]. 15. Mani, Contentious, pp. 2, 29, 33–35, 39–40. 16. Marshman here uses Mrityunjay Vidyalankar’s 1817 legal opinion to support the idea that the Manusmriti enjoins austerity for widows. As noted, however, Marshman was first drawn to this argument in reviewing Rammohun’s 1818 tract on sati. It seems that



200

17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

25. 26.

27.

28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34.

35. 36.

37. 38.

39. 40.

201

Marshman had just come across Vidyalankar’s legal opinion and wanted to emphasize its arguments here: FI (MS) 2 (1819): 473–78 [Marshman, Essays, pp. 54–60]. FI (MS) 2 (1819): 453–54, 483–84 [Marshman, Essays, pp. 32–33, 66]. For Rammohun’s appeal to scriptural authority in his Vedanta publications, see Sen, Biography, pp. 64–65; and Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 88–89, 119–20, 159, 161–62. AJ 5 (1818): 291; 11 (1821): 146; 13 (1822): 558; and 25 (1828): 371. See, for example, Evangelical Magazine and Missionary Chronicle (1818): 139; and MR 15 (1820): 4. MsR (1820): 171–76; MsR (1828): 454; Potts, British, pp. 148–49. Marshman, Essays. OH 1 (1824): 552–53; 2 (1824): 53–53, 175–77; and 8 (1826): 2–4. Peggs, Suttees’ Cry (1827), pp. 15–19; Suttees’ Cry (1828), pp. 31–34; and India’s Cries (1830), pp. 29–34. I have not located a copy of the first edition of India’s Cries, but a contemporary review indicates that it was a compilation of Peggs’ earlier pamphlets, including, apparently, the 1828 version of Suttees’ Cry: MR (NS) 3 (1829): 830–43. The volume is rare because less than one hundred copies circulated; see “First Report of the Coventry Society for the Abolition of Human Sacrifices in India,” in General Baptist Repository (1830): 113–116, especially p. 114. Peggs, Suttees’ Cry (1827), pp. 30–50; (1828), pp. 34–50; India’s Cries (1830), pp. 34–51; India’s Cries (1832), pp. 229–42 (quotation, p. 229). W. P. Courtney (revised, Katherine Prior), “Poynder, John (1779/80–1849),” DNB; Fisch, Tödliche, p. 406. Fisch notes that Poynder’s resolution was not binding and had little immediate effect. AJ 23 (1827): 689–706 (quotations, 706, 700). Marshman’s passage is in FI (QS) 1 (1821): 351. Poynder paraphrased a passage from Translation of the Ishopanishad (1816), making it appear that it addressed sati when in fact idolatry was Rammohun’s target; for this passage, see EWG 1: 73–74 [EWNB 2: 51–52]. Years later Poynder indicated that Rammohun had written to him after sati was abolished, rejoicing in the event: MC, September 26, 1839 (accessed through BLN, RMR [20]). After the privy council upheld abolition in 1832, Poynder and Rammohun exchanged letters: CRR 2: 728–29. OH 8 (1826): 2–4 (quotation, 2). OH 21 (1829): 292–308 (quotations, 295). MR (NS) 3(1829): 830–32. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. xxxiv–v, 142; AJ (NS) 12 (1833): 203–204. MR (NS) 3 (1829): 831. Mineka, Dissidence, pp. 167–68, 224–96; Gleadle, Early, pp. 34–36. Ward, View (1817) 2: 112–13; View (1820) 3: Preface (xlviii–xlix), 161–62, 278–81; Farewell, pp. 63–80; and “Letter from the Rev. W. Ward, Missionary in India, to the Ladies of Liverpool, and of the United Kingdom,” Times, January 3, 1821, p. 3. Mani, Contentious, pp. 55–56. Rammohun Roy, A Second Conference between an Advocate for, and an Opponent of the Practice of Burning Widows Alive (1820), EWG 2: 333–63 (quotations, 335, 358) [EWNB 3: 99–127 (quotations, 101, 122–23)]. Rammohun Roy to J. M. Macnabb, March 6, 1820, BL, APAC, MSS Eur F206/86. Mani, Contentious, pp. 74–75; for the contrary view, see, for example, Singh, Rammohun, pp. 205–209; Nandy, “Sati,” pp. 172–73, 190–92; and Chakrabarty, Provincializing, pp. 120–23. Roy, Second Conference, EWG 2: 359–63 [EWNB 3: 124–27]. Ferguson, First, pp. 25–26, 180–97, 266–83, 398–411; Rendall, Origins, pp. 18, 56–62.



NOTES

41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

47.

48.

49. 50.

51.

52.

53. 54.

55. 56. 57.

58.

59. 60.

61.

NOTES Pichanick, Martineau, pp. 17–19; Gleadle, Early, pp. 59–60. Rendall, Origins, pp. 23–31 (quotation, p. 24). Gleadle, Early, pp. 34, 63–68, 118–20. This has been amply demonstrated by Ruth Watts (“Unitarian” and “Knowledge”). Quoted in Gleadle, Early, p. 66. Junius Redivivus [William Bridges Adams], “On the Condition of Women in England,” MR (NS) 7 (1833): 217–31 (quotation, 217). Mineka identifies Adams as Junius Redivivus: Dissidence, pp. 401–402. Interesting in this regard is the fact that Rammohun sent Lady Hastings copies of both A Second Conference and The Precepts of Jesus: Roy to Macnabb, March 6, 1820, BL, APAC, MSS Eur F206/86. Rammohun Roy, Brief Remarks regarding Modern Encroachments on the Ancient Rights of Females (1822), EWG 2: 373–84 (quotations, pp. 378 [?—missing page]–379, 383) [EWNB 1: 1–9 (quotations, 4–5, 8)]. Roy, Brief Remarks, EWG 2: 377 [EWNB 1: 2]. Rammohun Roy, Essay on the Rights of Hindoos over Ancestral Property, According to the Law of Bengal (1830, 1832), EWG 2: 385–434 [EWNB 1: 11–57]. See also Collet, Life, pp. 271–73 and CRR 1: 493–543. Roy, Essay, EWG 2: 389–94 [EWNB 1: 13–17]. For an excellent account of the Dayabhaga and how it differs from Vijnanesvara’s Mitaksara, see Rocher, Jimutavahana’s, “Introduction.” Roy, Essay, EWG 2: 387 [EWNB 1: 12]. For Colebroke’s work, see Rocher, Jimutavahana’s, pp. 20–21, 32–43. Rammohun was also influenced by pandits in India: see AJ (NS) 27 (November 1838): 225–26. Roy, Essay, EWG 2: 434 [EWNB 1: 57]; CRR 1: 525–27. SR, p. 273. The pamphlet is also printed in Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 185–92, with the relevant passage on pp. 186–87. As indicated below, Rammohun submitted a manuscript version of this pamphlet to the East India Company’s legal counsels: see BL, APAC, L/L/13 (1030), vol. 3, doc. 10, ff. 336–339 (especially f. 337). Mani, Contentious, p. 59; Fisch, Tödliche, pp. 280–81. Fisch notes there are reasons to doubt this. The available statistics do not indicate a higher incidence among widows without male offspring: Fisch, Tödliche, p. 281. BL, APAC, L/L/13 (1030), vol. 3, doc. 10, ff. 327–42. Rammohun’s signed manuscript, dated January 14, 1832, is found on ff. 336–39. For the passages that Rammohun cited from the printed material, see doc. 9, ff. 310–312, 314–315 (Appendix G, pp. 174–175, 178, 182–83) and doc. 10, f. 318. The lawyers’ reliance on Rammohun’s arguments about inheritance law, including the Colebrooke translations he cited, is apparent from doc. 8, f. 215 (pamphlet p. 6) and doc. 10, ff. 336–337, 340–41, 344. Ibid., doc. 8, f. 217 (pamphlet p. 9), and doc. 10, f. 342 (R. Spankie to Edward Lawford, January 18, 1832). For Denman’s tenure as attorney general, see Arnould, Memoir 1: 322–404. BL, APAC, L/L/13 (1030), vol. 3, doc. 8, f. 215 (pamphlet, p. 5) and doc. 10, f. 336. Rammohun’s manuscript is titled “A few remarks in vindication of the Government of Bengal in abolishing the practice of Female Sacrifices”: BL, APAC, L/L/13 (1030), vol. 3, doc. 10, f. 336. J. T. Rutt, letter dated September 20, 1832, Examiner, October 7, 1832 (accessed through BLN, RR [#17]). Robert Montgomery Martin possessed a copy (“Rammohun,” p. 391). The Asiatic Journal alludes to “papers” on sati he drafted in London, but this may refer to the manuscript sent to the Company’s legal team: AJ (NS) 12 (1833): 209, 289.



202

203

62. Modern Review 55, no. 1 (1934): 110; Modern Review 55, no. 3 (1934): 272–76; Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 185–92. For the publishing details, see Collet, Life, p. 537 and CRR 2: 727, 867. Majumdar and others date the printed pamphlet to 1831, but this cannot be correct. In both the manuscript and printed version, Rammohun cites the page numbers of a printed appendix to the Company’s brief that the lawyers sent him in January 1832: [Edward Lawford] to Rammohun Roy, January 4, 1832, BL, APAC, L/L/13 (1030), vol. 3, doc. 10, f. 331. For Rammohun’s citation of the page numbers from the Company’s appendix, see ibid., f. 338, and SR, p. 274. 63. Modern Review 55, no. 1 (1934): 110–111; CRR 2: 866. The note is in Rammohun’s hand and is written to “Lady Johnstone.” This is obviously an orthographical error, since the Lahore pamphlet was discovered bound with two other pamphlets by Rammohun, which were inscribed to Sir Alexander Johnston and Lady Johnston, respectively (see the typescript description of the bound volume and accompanying photograph of Rammohun’s inscriptions in BL, APAC, MSS Eur F/178/47). 64. CRR 2: 723–25, 768–80, 807–809. These letters were first published in Carpenter, Last, pp. 97–99. 65. MsR (1823): 187–90; AJ 16 (1823): 446–51; OH 8 (1826): 18–19; Peggs, India’s Cries (1830), pp. 11–13; Peggs, India’s Cries (1832), pp. 223–24. 66. TV. Most tracts in this volume can be found in EWG, vols. 1–2 and EWNB, vols. 1–3. 67. TV, p. vii. 68. For interest in the privy council hearings, see Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 194–99; BH, June 8, 1832, p. 3, November 6, 15, and 22, 1832 (all p. 3); AEI, 4 (1832): 242–49; Court Magazine 1 (1832): 104. 69. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 150–51; Martin, Remarks, pp. 21–22fn; King, Survey, pp. 55, 322; AEI 1 (1830–1831): 5. The Calcutta letter was front page news in Boston: ChR, April 17, 1830, p. 61. For Frances Martin, see King, Survey, pp. 34, 89, 92, 288–89. The Martins’ praise of Rammohun is examined in chapter 7. 70. Rammohun Roy to Mrs. Woodford, April 27, 1832, to Mr. Woodford, January 31, 1833, and to Mr. Woodford, August 22, 1833, CRR 2: 723–25, 768–80, 807–809. These letters were first published in Carpenter, Last, pp. 97–99. 71. MR (NS) 6 (1832): 615. For Fox’s authorship, see Mineka, Dissidence, p. 407. 72. MR (NS) 6 (1832): 637–42 (quotation, 641). For Fox’s authorship, see Mineka, Dissidence, p. 407. 73. [William J. Fox], “Campbell’s Life of Mrs. Siddons,” MR (NS) 8 (1834): 533–50 (especially, 549); M. L. G. [Mary Leman Grimstone], “Female Education,” MR (NS) 9 (1835): 106–112 (especially, 108); Anonymous, “Channing on Slavery,” MR (NS) 10 (1836): 198–203 (especially, 202). For Fox and Grimstone’s authorship, see Mineka, Dissidence, pp. 409–410. 74. [William J. Fox], “A Victim,” MR (NS) 7 (1833): 164–77 (quotation, 177). For Fox’s authorship, see Mineka, Dissidence, p. 408. 75. [William J. Fox], “The Dissenting Marriage Question,” MR (NS) 7 (1833): 136–42 (quotation, 142). For Fox’s authorship, see Mineka, Dissidence, p. 407. 76. [Fox], “Campbell’s Life,” MR (NS) 8 (1834): 533–50 (quotation, 537). 77. I rely here on Gleadle, Early. 78. See, for example, Holcombe, Wives, p. 48, and Rendall, Origins, p. 228. Gleadle disputes this interpretation (Early, p. 1). 79. Levine, Victorian, pp. 32–33. 80. Tuke, History, Chaps. 1–3; Herstein, Mid-Victorian, pp. 18–20; Watts, “Knowledge,” p. 40. 81. Herstein, Mid-Victorian.



NOTES

NOTES

82. Rammohun Roy to Mrs. Woodford, April 27, 1832, CRR 2: 724. 83. Rammohun referred once to Mrs. Woodford’s “rational devotion to religion” (Rammohun Roy to Mr. Woodford, January 31, 1833, CRR 2: 768). Also, Woodford belonged to Mary Carpenter’s circle of contacts. She sent Carpenter copies of Rammohun’s letters to herself and her husband, which Carpenter published in a section of her book containing the Bengali’s letters to various individuals, including the Unitarians J. B. Estlin, Catherine Castle and Ann Kiddell (Carpenter, Last, pp. 97–112). 84. JHC, 85 (Session 1830), p. 184. 85. I rely here on Watts, “Unitarian,” “Knowledge,” and “Radical.” For the general interest in educating women to be better mothers, see Rendall, Origins, Chap. 4. 86. Manton, Carpenter, pp. 24–27, 37–39; Schupf, “Single,” pp. 304–305 (quotation, p. 304). 87. Carpenter, Review, pp. 40–41 (quotations), 91–95. 88. Carpenter, Life, pp. 30–36; Manton, Carpenter, pp. 47–51 (quotation, p. 47). See also the review of Carpenter’s Life in The Examiner, February 14, 1880 (accessed through BLN, RR [#89]). 89. Manton, Carpenter, pp. 48–52; Webb, “Thom,” pp. 231–34. For Rammohun’s role in persuading Unitarians to give up missions in India, see CRR 1: 266–314; Carpenter, Review, pp. 19, 55–62; and Lavan, Unitarians, pp. 59–70. 90. Manton, Carpenter, Chap. 13; Burton, “Fearful,” pp. 554–57. 91. Manton, Carpenter, pp. 205–207; Burton, “Fearful,” pp. 568–69. 92. Burton, Burdens, pp. 7–8, 109–110. 93. Entry by Chutter [Chitter?] Mohun Dutt, January 1, 1866, in Mary Carpenter’s Poetical Extract Book, BRO, 12693/20; Manton, Carpenter, pp. 194–95. 94. Carpenter, Last, pp. 78–81, 84–85, 95. 95. Watts, “Unitarian,” p. 277; Martineau, Autobiography 1: 95–96. 96. Martineau, Autobiography 1: 155, and 3: 47–48 (quotations). 97. Ibid., 1: 95–96, and Webb, Martineau, Chap. 10. 98. Martineau, Autobiography 1: 243, 280. 99. Pichanick, Martineau, pp. 17–18, 92–99, 233–34. 100. In her 1857 survey of British India, Martineau alluded to Rammohun’s arguments in her account of sati but gave credit to Bentinck for abolition. She mentioned Rammohun by name only once, while citing his evidence to parliament on revenue settlement matters: Martineau, British, pp. 27–28, 177–78, 285–86. 101. Fox, Discourse, pp. 26–27 (quotations), 48–50. Martineau’s hymn is on pp. 52–54. 102. MR (NS) 6 (1832): 642; for Fox’s authorship, see Mineka, Dissidence, p. 407. 103. Gleadle, Early, pp. 58–60; Pichanick, Martineau, pp. 96–99; Mineka, Dissidence, p. 295. 104. Le Breton, Memoirs, pp. ix, 183; Aikin, Memoir 1: 3, 10, 48–50; Martineau, Autobiography 1: 302. 105. Aikin, Memoir 1: 168–70. 106. Le Breton, Memoirs, pp. xxi,xxiii, 1–11, 84, 93–94, 123, 160, 189, 210, 230–31, 256–57, 268–69, 276, 285–86, 303, 341, 363, 408 (quotations, pp. 1, 7, and 395); Martineau, Autobiography 1 : 303–306. 107. Ferguson, First, pp. 19–25, 28–32, 35–36. 108. Benger, Female, pp. 1, 8–9, 18, 34, 41–43. For Mary Scott, see Ferguson, “Cause.” 109. Aikin, “Memoir of Miss Benger,” in Le Breton, Memoirs, pp. 1–7; Rosemary Mitchell, “Benger, Elizabeth Ogilvy (bap. 1775, d. 1827),” DNB.



204

205

110. Aikin, Epistles, pp. 77. For a critical look at the patriotic sentiments in this work, see Midgley, Feminism, pp. 21–22. 111. Le Breton, Memoirs, pp. 97–98, 140, 142, 187, 200, 228, 301, 376 (quotations, p. 376). For Aikin’s historical volumes, see Memoirs Elizabeth; Memoirs James; and Memoirs Charles. 112. Hicks, “Macaulay’s,” pp. 170–71. 113. Maitzen, “Feminine,” (quotation, p. 375). Maitzen lists the works of Aikin and Benger as early examples of this new genre. 114. Aikin, Epistles, pp. 14, 17–20, 30, 33–34, 36, 52–59, 62–65, 83–84 (quotations, pp. 36, 53, 56, 62, 65, 84). 115. Fisch, Tödliche, pp. 234–35; Midgley, Feminism, pp. 67–70; Buchanan, Memoir; Le Breton, Memoirs, p. 114 (quotation). 116. Le Breton, Memoirs, pp. 151–52, 226, 230–31, 248, 258, 271–72, 289–90, 297–98 (quotations, pp. 231, 258, 272, 289–90, 298). 117. Court Journal, June 30, 1832, p. 440. 118. For the marriage rumors, see Joseph Tuckerman, diary, 30 October 1833, Joseph Tuckerman Papers, Masschusetts Historical Society. 119. Tuke, History, pp. 3, 6–17 (quotation, p. 17). 120. Sanford Arnot [on behalf of Rammohun Roy] to William Smith, June 3, 1831, and Rammohun Roy to William Smith, May 30, 1833, BL, Add. Mss. 59655. William Smith lived with his son, Benjamin, from 1830 to 1835: Herstein, Mid-Victorian, p. 9. 121. Rammohun Roy to Elizabeth Jesser Reid, January 6 and May 22, 1832, and June 3, 1833, RHUL BC RF103/8/29–31. In the first, Rammohun declines an invitation. 122. For Reid’s circle and their feminist and abolitionist views, see Herstein, Mid-Victorian, pp. 18–20; Tuke, History, pp. 6–17, and the typescript extracts from the diary of Henry Crabb Robinson in RHUL BC RF104/1/1–70. Aikin is frequently mentioned in the latter. 123. Mary Mohl to Elizabeth Reid, November 1, 1860, RHUL BC RF103/11/31. 124. This paragraph is based on Lesser, Clarkey; and Simpson, Mohl. For the influence of Benger and Récamier, see Lesser, pp. 18–20, 89–90, 173, and Simpson, pp. 6–7, 19–24. 125. These views are scattered throughout Mohl’s letters and writings. For examples, see Simpson, Mohl, pp. 179–80, 189–91, 198, 218, 226–27, 241, 247–48, 258–59; Lesser, Clarkey, pp. 7, 109–110, 127, 129–31, 138–41, 154, 175–78; and Mohl, Récamier, pp. 58, 277–91. 126. Lesser, Clarkey, p. 152. 127. Mohl, Récamier, pp. 118–23, 136–40, 145, 176, 224–28, 234–36, 265–66, 277–91. 128. Offen, “Legouvé,” pp. 452–52fn, 454–55, 466–70, 473. 129. Lesser, Clarkey, pp. 74–75 (quotations), 78, 83. 130. For Julius Mohl’s orientalist career, see Simpson, Mohl, pp. 10, 13–14, 24, 30, 48, 74, 76, 227–29, 234–35, 279–80, 351–51, 355, and Lesser, Clarkey, pp. 68, 118. 131. Mohl, Récamier, pp. ix, 280–85. 132. Lesser, Clarkey, pp. 108, 176. 133. Simpson, Mohl, pp. 207–208. 134. Mary Mohl to Elizabeth Reid, January 30 [1865], RHUL BC RF/103/11/33 (Aikin’s original comments, based on the concluding section of A Second Conference, are in Le Breton, Memoirs, pp. 271–72). For Mohl’s memory of visiting the Aikin family, see Mary Mohl to Elizabeth Reid, November 1, 1860, RHUL BC RF103/11/31.



NOTES

NOTES

135. M. A., “Stapelton Grove,” Christian Reformer; or, Unitarian Magazine and Review 1 (1834): 31. The sentiments expressed suggest a female author. There are two other elegies in this volume, both apparently by women; these emphasize Rammohun’s religious contributions (ibid.: 30, 290). 136. [Mary Carpenter,] “On the Interment of the Rajah Rammohun Roy,” in Carpenter, Review, (after p. 137). Mary Carpenter acknowledged authorship and reprinted the piece, which she considered one in a series of sonnets, in 1866 (Last, pp. 139–42). An additional manuscript sonnet, not included in either printed version, exists: LCC, f. 274. 137. Le Breton, Memoirs, pp. 233–34, 259, 263, 399, 421–24 (quotation, p. 234); Lesser, Clarkey, pp. 78, 174. 138. Channing to Aikin, May 5, 1834, in Le Breton, Correspondence, p. 209. 139. Lesser, Clarkey, p. 162. For other negative comments about British imperialism in China and India, see Simpson, Mohl, pp. 178–79, 371, 376. Midgley notes that Aikin harbored patriotic sentiments about the British Raj: Feminism, p. 90. 140. Schupf, “Single,” pp. 315–16. 141. For surveys of this transatlantic alliance, see Fladeland, Men, and Taylor, British. Reid’s case is discussed in Tuke, History, p. 6. 142. ChR, November 1, 8, 1822, pp. 46, 50; February 14, March 7, 1823, pp. 107, 117; April 17, 1830, p. 61; April 28, October 6, 1832, pp. 66, 158. 143. ChR, December 31, 1825, p. 206; January 7, November 4, 11, 1826, pp. 4, 173, 180. 144. ChR, April 17 and October 23, 1830, pp. 61, 170. 145. Anonymous, Address, p. 8. Tim Huebner helped me date this. 146. Jeffrey, Great, pp. 86–95, 109–26 (quotation, p. 126). 147. Anonymous, “Life,” p. 591. Estlin is also the likely source of a lock of Rammohun’s hair held by the British Library (APAC, MSS Eur B259). 148. Taylor, British, pp. 8, 10–11, 230–32 (quotation, p. 231). . 149. Fladeland, Men, p. 269. Not only women collected such keepsakes. Jeremy Bentham’s will stipulated that “rings bearing his effigy and containing portions of his hair” were to be distributed among admirers, including Jean-Baptiste Say, J. S. Mill, John Bowring, Francis Place, and Joseph Parkes: Examiner, June 17, 1832 (accessed through BLN, RMR [#15]). 150. Midgley, Women, Chap. 7; Fladeland, Men, pp. 264–69. 151. For the antislavery views and activities of these individuals, see Midgley, Women, Chap. 7; Le Breton, Memoirs, p. 391; Lesser, Clarkey, p. 174; Manton, Carpenter, pp. 76–78; Pichanick, Martineau, pp. 84–103; Garnett and Garnett, Life, pp. 258, 261.

6


Turner, Buckingham, pp. 42–112; Buckingham, Autobiography. Webster, “Early.” Buckingham, Outline, p. 8; Turner, Buckingham, pp. 128, 195; Barns, Indian, p. 110. Turner, Buckingham, p. 136. For examples of published letters from indigo planters, see CJ, January 1 and 31, 1822, pp. 10, 323; November 14, 1822, p. 189; and January 16, 1823, pp. 215–20. 5. Turner, Buckingham, pp. 115–28; Ahmed, Social , pp. 52–59; Barns, Indian, Chaps. 4–5; Natarajan, History, pp. 10–32. For the notion of a golden age, see Stanhope, Sketch, pp. 3, 12–34; for a critique of it, see Peers, “Liberty,” pp. 782–83.

1. 2. 3. 4.



206

207

6. Turner, Buckingham, pp. 137–39; Peers, “Liberty,” p. 786; Buckingham, Outline, p. 89. Representative examples of this correspondence are found in CJ, May 2 and 9, 1819, cols. 357, 446; February 5 and 12, 1821, pp. 439–40, 525; March 30, 1821, p. 352; January 1 and 3, 1822, pp. 10, 35–36; April 1, 1822, p. 335; May 16 and 20, 1822, pp. 239, 273; July 13, 1822, p. 187; January 17, 1823, pp. 233–34; March 18, 1823, pp. 236–37, 240. 7. Turner, Buckingham, p. 137. 8. Ibid., pp. 138, 146–54, 166, 185–87; Ahmed, Social, p. 59; Peers, “Liberty,” p. 786. For examples of the early criticism of the sati policy, see CJ, April 11, May 2 and 9, 1819, cols. 119, 357, 446; August 13, 1819, cols. 601–602; November 9, 1819, cols. 53–57; and January 20, February 5 and 7, 1820, pp. 135–41, 229, 257–58. 9. Turner, Buckingham, pp. 130–31. 10. CJ, October 13, 1819, cols. 69–71. For the original, see North American Review (Boston) 6 (1818): 386–93 11. The best account of these events is still Wickwar, Struggle. Also useful are Wiener, Radicalism, Chaps. 2–5; Thompson, Making, pp. 672–78, 699–700, 718–33; Harrison, Poor, Chaps. 3–4; and Aspinall, Politics, pp. 42–65. 12. CJ, January 8, 1819, col. 50; March 13, 1820, pp. 93–94; May 23, 1820, p. 241; July 22 and 27, 1820, pp. 256, 313; September 6, 1820, pp. 62–64; February 10, 1821 (entire issue); March 10 and 30, 1821, pp. 109, 352; February 12, 1822, p. 539; and April 16, 1822, pp. 502–503. 13. See, for example, the February 10, 1821 issue and the image of Queen Caroline used as the frontispiece of the first volume for 1822 of the Calcutta Journal. For radical and Whig support for the queen’s cause, see Warwick, Struggle, pp. 161–65; Wood, Radical, pp. 149–54; Thompson, Making, pp. 708–709; and Arnould, Memoir vol. 1, Chaps. 8–11. 14. Collet, Life, pp.168–72, 204–205; CRR 1: 222–23; Ahmed, Social, pp. 85–91. The names of these newspapers have been variously transliterated; for the Kaumudi and Mirat, I have followed Killingley (Rammohun, p. 32), but without using diacritics. 15. Fisher, “Office,” pp. 45–82 (especially, pp. 78–82). Newsletters and the transition to a modern public are also discussed in Bayly, Empire, pp. 69–73, and Ahmed, Social, pp. 79, 95. 16. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 285–96, 298–314; CJ, February 26, 1822, pp. 586–87; March 18, 1822, p. 178; July 13 and 24, 1822, pp. 187, 330–31; October 16, 1822, p. 623; Singh, Rammohun, pp. 289–95; Ahmed, Social, pp. 85–87, 91–92. 17. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 315–16; Singh, Rammohun, p. 288; Ahmed, Social, pp. 87, 91fn. 18. Singh, Rammohun, p. 289; Collet, Life, p. 171fn. 19. CJ, May 1, 1821, p. 1; December 20, 1821, pp. 518–19 (quotation, p. 518); April 24, 1822, p. 583; Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 285, 315 (quotation, p. 315). 20. CJ, May 1, 1821, p. 1. For the original review, see FI (QS) 1 (1820–1821): 249–96 (quotation, 295–96). There is debate whether the Bengali tract was written by Rammohun under a pseudonym: Hay, Dialogue, “Introduction”; Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 13, 119; Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 53–54. 21. FI (QS) 2 (1822): 420–21, 425 (quotation, 425). 22. CJ, December 22, 1821, p. 546; April 24, 1822, p. 583 (quotation); Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 315, 321 (quotations, p. 315). 23. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 283–84, 315–17 (quotation, p. 284). Richard Carlile was nominal publisher of Sherwin’s paper and eventually took control of their venture,



NOTES

24. 25. 26.

27. 28.

29.

30.

31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36.

37. 38. 39.

40.

NOTES replacing the Weekly Political Register in 1819 with the Republican: Wiener, Radicalism, pp. 18, 42–43. For accounts, see Turner, Buckingham, pp. 142–97, and Barns, Indian, pp. 96–130. Turner, Buckingham, pp. 188–91; Barns, Indian, pp. 102–109, 115–23. Thomas Love Peacock, Testimony before the Select Committee on the suppression of the Calcutta Journal, July 11, 1834, BL, APAC, Home Misc. Series, vol. 536, pp. 131, 749–50 (quotation, p. 131). See also Minutes of meeting at Lord Liverpool’s House, March 1, 1823; and C. W. Williams Wynn to Lord Amherst, March 4, 1823, BL, APAC, MSS Eur F/140/63. Wickwar, Struggle, pp. 141–52, 289–90. George Canning to Lord Liverpool, April 19, 1820, Liverpool Papers, BL, Add. Mss. 38,193, f. 120; see also Philips, East, p. 224. For the censorship proposal, see C. W. Williams Wynn to chairs of Court of Directors, July 8, 1823, and draft paragraphs for dispatch to India, BL, APAC, Home Misc. Series, vol. 536, pp. 752–53. J. Pattison and W. Wigram to C. W. Williams Wynn, January 17, 1823, BL, APAC, Home Misc. Series, vol. 535, pp. 1–341; Peacock, Testimony, July 11, 1834, BL, APAC, Home Misc. Series, vol. 536, pp. 131, 749–50; Minutes of meeting at Lord Liverpool’s House, March 1, 1823, in MSS Eur F/140/63 . See also Turner, Buckingham, p. 196; Barns, Indian, p. 124. See the correspondence between W. Wigram and W. Astell and C. W. Williams Wynn on June 5 and July 8, 1823, in BL, APAC, Home Misc. Series, vol. 536, pp. 750–52. The additional evidence they presented came from W. B. Bayley’s minute of October 10, 1822 (BL, APAC, Bengal Public Consultations, P/10/55). Peers briefly makes a similar point (“Liberty,” p. 781). See W. B. Bayley’s minute of October 10, 1822, BL, APAC, Bengal Public Consultations, P/10/55. Bayley’s criticisms of the Mirat are discussed at length in chapter 8. For the classic example, see the selections from Dadabhai Naoroji’s speeches and writings in de Bary, Indian, pp. 113–21, CRR 1: 209–22, (quotation, 212). For Rammohun’s authorship, see ibid., 221–22, and Collet, Life, pp. 205–206. Singh, Rammohun, pp. 306–307. For Rammohun’s announcement on closing the Mirat, see Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 322–23. CRR 1: 223–28 (quotations, 226). For the original passages cited here, see Roy, Final Appeal to the Christian Public in Defence of “The Precepts of Jesus” (1823), EWG 4: 874; and FI (QS) 2 (1822): 425. CRR 1: 224, 233–34, 236–37, 257–58. Ibid., 239–40, 253–55. Ibid., 264, 341; Leicester Stanhope to Rammohun Roy, June 9, 1825, OH 6 (1825): 105–107 (quotation, 105). In an 1827 speech Stanhope indicated he had delivered the petition to Charles Williams Wynn, president of the Board: AJ 23 (1827): 571. Anonymous, Proceedings, pp. 30–31. This volume is attributed to Buckingham by Turner (Buckingham, p. 447) and in the British Library’s integrated catalog. There is reason to doubt this, since Buckingham printed a separate, slightly different verbatim account of the proceedings in OH 5 (1825): 704–48. This latter account brings in important observations and detail regarding Brougham’s role (pp. 705, 744) and it includes commentary by Buckingham (e.g., p. 737). It seems unlikely that Buckingham would bear the cost of printing two distinct versions of the proceedings. Moreover, the Proceedings was printed by the same printing firm (Cox, later, Cox and Baylis) used by the Court of directors when they printed their materials for the privy council appeal against the



208

41.

42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

47.

48.

49. 50.

51. 52. 53. 54.

55.

209

abolition of sati in 1832 (see BL, APAC, L/L/13 [1030], vol. 3, ff. 218). This suggests that the Proceedings was produced by the Directors. According to the account in the Oriental Herald, Brougham, sitting with the Company’s legal team, objected because Rammohun’s petition had not been presented to the council with the other documents in the case. The council president sustained the objection because the petition “had not yet been presented to the Council in an official manner”: OH 5 (1825): 705. Arnould, Memoir 1: 86, 134–81, 404; and 2: 2. Ibid., 1: 328–35; Wickwar, Struggle, pp. 291–304; Wiener, Radicalism, pp. 175–77. Le Breton, Memories, pp. 148–49. Arnould, Memoir 1: 102–14, 119–28, 217–19, 226–34; Wickwar, Struggle, pp. 108fn, 117, 127, 219; Wiener, Radicalism, p. 91 (quotation). Turner, Buckingham, pp. 212–25, 338–44, 415; Buckingham, Outline, pp. 69–111; Buckingham, Defence, pp. 128–34, 164–66; CJB 11: xxxv, 287, 348, 426; CJB 12: 58, 213–16, 256; Aspinall, Politics, p. 174 (quotation). See also Sandford Arnot’s comment that Buckingham had important friends who deemed him “a useful political instrument” (Arnot, Sketch, p. 70). HPD2, vol. 41 (Commons, December 23, 1819), cols. 1516–1525 (quotations, 1522, 1523); HPD2, 2d ser., vol. 11 (Commons, May 25, 1824), col. 885; Anonymous, Proceedings, pp. 51–53. For Whig opposition to banishment, see Wickwar, Struggle, pp. 136–52, and Aspinall, Politics, pp. 57–59; for slavery and the English air, see Fryer, Staying, Chap. 6. See the argumentations by John Bosanquet and Robert Spankie in Anonymous, Proceedings, pp. 73–113 (quotation, p. 113). For similar arguments, see AJ 16 (1823): 468–72, and the speeches before the Court of Proprietors by Edward Impey and John Malcolm: AJ 18 (1824): 189–203 (especially, 190, 195–97, 198–99, 201–202). George Canning also argued that India was so different from Britain that a free press was unsuitable there: HPD2, 2d ser., vol. 11 (Commons, May 25, 1824), cols. 881–882. Anonymous, Proceedings, pp. 10–12, 49–54, 115–24 (quotations, pp. 50, 115, 116). For examples, see James Young’s essay in Westminster Review 4 (1825): 261–93, and the speeches by Douglas Kinnaird, Joseph Hume, and Leicester Stanhope at the Court of Proprietors, in AJ 18 (1824): 172–89, 270–85 (especially, 174, 177, 189, 273–75, 277–78, 282–83), and AJ 23 (1827): 569–75. Young’s authorship of the Westminster Review article is discussed in note 54 to this chapter. HPD2, 2d ser., vol. 11 (Commons, May 25, 1824), col. 870. Hume, speech before the Court of Proprietors, July 23, 1824, in AJ 18 (1824): 282–83. Kinnaird, speech before the Court of Proprietors, July 9, 1824, in AJ 18 (1824): 177. The Wellesley Index supposes Buckingham the author (Houghton, Wellesley, p. 563). Young is a better candidate, however. About the time that this article appeared, Young wrote Bentham a letter containing ideas and references found in the article. These include the notion that Company officials constitute a caste having no permanent interest in India; reference to a ruling white class and subject black population; the complaint that there is no right to petition or of assembly in India; stress on publicity and a free press as the only viable checks on misrule in India; citation (giving volume and page number) of the same issue of the Oriental Herald; and the claim that the Company did not fear Indian, but only European and Eurasian opinion: see Westminster Review 4 (October, 1825): 263, 265–67, 274, 288–89; and James Young to Jeremy Bentham, September–October 1825?, CJB 12: 166–70. CJB 11: 282; and 12: 26, 418.



NOTES

NOTES

56. Westminster Review 4 (1825): 262, 265–69, 278, 280–81, 28 283–84, 289–90 (quotations, 266, 267, 268, 281, 283, 290). 57. AJ 18 (1824): 203. 58. Elizabeth Baigent, “Stanhope, Leicester Fitzgerald Charles, fifth earl of Harrington (1784–1862),” DNB; Rosen, Bentham, pp. 144–45. 59. Stanhope, Sketch, pp. 47–48, 94, 114, 150 [AJ 12 (1821): 157–58, 429; AJ 14 (1822): 63]; Stanhope, Greece, pp. 34, 67, 91–92, 142–43, 167–68; Rosen, Bentham, pp. 145–49 (quotation, p. 146). 60. Rosen, Bentham, pp. 148–49; Stanhope, Greece, p. 67. 61. Stanhope, Sketch, pp. 4–5, 23–24, 49–50, 85–87, 94 (quotation, p. 94) [AJ 12 (1821): 157–58, 254, 429 (quotation, 429)]; Stanhope, Greece, pp. 91–93, 97–98. See also Stanhope’s speech before the Court of Proprietors on March 21, 1827, in AJ 23 (1827): 570, 573–74. 62. Stanhope, Sketch, pp. 10–11, 16, 24, 52, 175–81, 183–84; Stanhope, Greece, pp. 142–43. See also AJ 23 (1827): 573–75. 63. Stanhope, Sketch, pp. 35–38, 56, 86–87, 143–45, 150, 184 (quotations, pp. 56, 86–87, 143) [AJ 12 (1821): 160, 254 (quotations, 160, 254)]. 64. AJ 23 (1827): 569–81 (quotations, 571, 581). 65. Turner, Buckingham, pp. 225–26; King, “Buckingham,” pp. 176–77; CJB 11: 426. 66. OH 1 (1824): 2–3. 67. Ibid., 1–77, 123–42. 68. See, for example, this letter to the editor: OH 3 (1824): 286. When Alexander’s East India Magazine appeared in late 1830, it replaced the defunct Oriental Herald as the champion of free trade and avowed enemy of the East India Company. In introducing Alexander’s to readers, the editor, Robert Martin Montgomery, stressed that he had “no personal animosities to gratify”: AEI 1 (1830–1831): ii. This was an obvious jab at Buckingham. 69. King, “Buckingham,” p. 181. For examples of Buckingham’s penchant for reminding readers of his case, see OH 1 (1824): 3–15, 17–18, Appendix (pp. i–lii); 2 (1824): 78–95, 293–320, 393–402, 554–554* [sic: pagination error], 561–603; 3 (1824): 81–127; 4 (1825): 83–107, Supplement to No. 15, March 1825 (503–16); and 5 (1825): 704–48. 70. OH 1 (1824): 219, Appendix (xxxvi). Buckingham recognized that newspapers often diverted the public’s attention to sensational crimes, sporting events, and other “worthless matter,” but deemed this a “perversion of the most powerful engine of good”: OH 4 (1825): 155–56. 71. OH 2 (1824): 1–3, 6, 203, 525–26; 3 (1824): 161–70, 246, 336, 495, 565; 4 (1825): 67, 173, 316–17; 5 (1825): 95, 160, 569, 638; and 6 (1825): 152, 281. 72. OH 1 (1824): 219, 599–602; 2 (1824): 539; 3 (1824): 89 (quotation from speech by Joseph Hume); and 5 (1825): 713. 73. OH 3 (1824): 244, 526; 4 (1825): 316. See also Buckingham’s open letter to John Malcolm: OH 2 (1824): 393–402. 74. OH 2 (1824): 1–13; 3 (1824): 555–62; 4 (1825): 107–111; and 5 (1825): 441–44. 75. OH 1 (1824): 130–33, 218; 2 (1824): 534; 3 (1824): 435, 525 (quotation, p. 525fn); 5 (1825): 503–515, 619; and 7 (1825): 495. Buckingham also refuted the charge of critics that he, not Rammohun, was the author of the memorial: OH 3 (1824): 112, 124–25. 76. OH 6 (1825): 105–107. See also CRR 2: 890–94. Stanhope’s letter was dated June 9, 1825, just after the May 23 privy council session at which the president stated he had never seen Rammohun’s petition. Stanhope may have been trying to assure Rammohun that he had delivered the petition to the proper authorities. 77. OH 1 (1824): 141–42, 217–18.



210

211

78. OH 1 (1824): 217–18, 552–53; 3 (1824): 525; 5 (1825): 588; 6 (1825): 560; 8 (1826): 2–3, 14, 482; 10 (1826): 251–58; and 21 (1829): 295–96. 79. OH 2 (1824): 534. These comments were part of two open letters to Sir Charles Forbes initially printed as separate pamphlets that same year (ibid., 518). These pamphlets are attributed to Buckingham (CJB 12: 30n; British Library integrated catalog). They were reviewed by Young in his 1825 Westminster Review article. 80. OH 4 (1825): 231. 81. OH 1 (1824): 217–18; and 3 (1824): 525. 82. OH 1 (1824): 141–42. 83. OH 8 (1826): 482. Similar views were expressed by Buckingham: OH 2 (1824): 524. 84. OH 7 (1825): 491. 85. OH 2 (1824): 524; and 3 (1824): 525. 86. According to one account, Brougham walked up behind Denman while the latter was reading and noticed that Rammohun’s petition “was in a printed paper, not included among those laid before the Council”: OH 5 (1825): 705. 87. AJ 18 (1824): 282. 88. Westminster Review 4 (1825): 267. 89. Anonymous, Proceedings, pp. 11, 115–16. 90. AJ 18 (1824): 177. For the original passage, see CRR 1: 216. 91. Anonymous, Proceedings, p. 115.

7


1. OH 16 (1828): 67. Buckingham’s comments recall Denman’s speech protesting the Company’s attempt to import its despotic Indian atmosphere into Britain: HPD2, 2d ser., vol. 11 (Commons, May 25, 1824), col. 885. 2. Turner, Buckingham, pp. 227–29; King, “Buckingham,” pp. 180–81, 190–91. 3. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. lxxvii–lxxix. See also Johnston’s testimony and the papers he presented to the Select Committee on the Affairs of the East India Company on July 6 and 9, 1832 (BSP2, Colonies: East India, vol. 10, pp. 137, 144, 147–48, 178–81). 4. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. lxxix–lxxxi, 437–38; Riddy, “Official,” pp. 26–31. 5. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. lxxxi, 438–42 (quotation, p. 439); Kling, Partner, pp. 24–27. 6. CRR 1: 439; Majumdar, Progressive, p. lxxxiii. 7. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. lxxxi–lxxxii, 442–46, 448–50, 451–53. 8. Ibid., pp. 434–35. For the Bengal Herald and Martin’s authorship of this editorial, see King, Survey, pp. 47–53, 403. 9. OH 1 (1824): 393. Buckingham employed the phrase repeatedly: OH 3 (1824): 359fn; 7 (1825): 597; and 15 (1827): 193. 10. For examples, see OH 1 (1824): 275–84; 2 (1824): 550–51; 6 (1825): 68, 539; 13 (1827): 356; 15 (1827): 193–206; 17 (1828): 3–14, 399–429; and 22 (1829): 133–35, 204. 11. OH 4 (1825): 314. 12. OH 2 (1824): 412–14; 7 (1825): 483–85; and 12 (1827): 310. See also Turner, Buckingham, pp. 227–29. 13. Examples can be found in: OH 1 (1824): 586–88; 2 (1824): 58–62, 408–12, 460–61; 8 (1826): 225–30; 14 (1827): 417, 418; 18 (1828): 202, 206–208, 210; and 21 (1829): 162–64. 14. OH 13 (1827): 361–62; 18 (1828): 201–14, 552–55; 20 (1829): 1–2, 381–91; and 21 (1829): 1–12. See also Turner, Buckingham, pp. 228–29.



NOTES

NOTES

15. OH 15 (1827): 308–21; Turner Buckingham, p. 238. The article was published in OH 14 (1827): 413–23. 16. Turner, Buckingham, pp. 239–46; King, “Buckingham,” pp. 207–213; Buckingham, Outline, pp. 112–22, 153–54. 17. Turner, Buckingham, pp. 239–40, 241; King, “Buckingham,” p. 209. 18. See reports of his lectures reprinted in OH 20 (1829): 203–207, and 21 (1829): 168–70, as well as the lecture outlines printed in OH 21 (1829): 505–509. In 1830 Buckingham published a revised and more detailed outline of his lectures, presumably for his later tours (Buckingham, Explanatory, pp. 23–27). 19. Liverpool Mercury, January 9, 1829, reprinted in OH 20 (1829): 207. 20. OH 20 (1829): 204, 208, 210–15; 21 (1829): 168, 170–73, 366–67; 23 (1829): 293–302. See also his lecture outlines: OH 21 (1829): 511–13; and Buckingham, Explanatory, pp. 28–29. 21. Buckingham, Explanatory, p. 14; OH 20 (1829): 207–209, 211–27; OH 21 (1829): 165–82, 380–88, 517–46; OH 23 (1829): 301–304, 450. See also the pamphlets produced by Buckingham and the Liverpool East India Association on the proceedings of the January 28, 1829 meeting in that city: Anonymous, Report; and Liverpool East India Association, Proceedings. 22. Turner, Buckingham, pp. 229, 286 (quotation, p. 286); Buckingham, History, p. 26; Philips, East, p. 289. The comparison to David is reprinted in OH 20 (1829): 216, and the reference to Herculean labors is found in Buckingham, Defence, p. 168. 23. Turner, Buckingham, pp. 279–86; Philips, East, pp. 288–89. 24. Turner, Buckingham, pp. 245–61 (quotation, p. 246); OH 22 (1829): 549; Leeds Mercury, August 13, 1831, p. 3. 25. See the accounts from the Edinburgh Observer and Glasgow Chronicle reprinted in Buckingham, History, pp. 28–29, 35. 26. OH 21 (1829): 512. 27. Buckingham, Explanatory, p. 17. 28. OH 23 (1829): 461–62. 29. Ibid., pp. 292–308, especially p. 295. 30. Buckingham, Explanatory, p. 28. 31. Turner, Buckingham, pp. 238–40; Buckingham, Explanatory, pp. 30–40. The number of Liverpool lectures comes from Buckingham, Outline, p. 154. 32. Turner, Buckingham, p. 347; for his Liverpool lectures on this subject, see BH, August 18, 1831, p. 3. 33. Liverpool Mercury, April 15, 1831, p. 118; Kaleidoscope, April 19, 1831, p. 331. Another account circulated in local papers. This did not mention Buckingham’s lecture, but followed the first account’s narrative structure: Liverpool Chronicle, April 16, 1831, p. 127; (Liverpool General?) Advertiser, quoted in Kaleidoscope, April 19, 1831, p. 331; Liverpool Times, quoted in Manchester Guardian, April 16, 1831, p. 3. In its account of Rammohun’s visit to Manchester, the Guardian did note, however, the “tribute” paid to Rammohun by Buckingham in a recent Manchester lecture (ibid.). 34. BH, August 17, 1831, p. 2, and August 18, 1831, pp. 2–3 (quotation, p. 3). 35. Sutherland, “Reminiscences.” 36. Entry for April 12, 1833, Henry Crabb Robinson Diary, vol. 15 (June 20, 1832–June 7, 1834), p. 108, DWL. 37. Crawfurd, Journal 1: 26, 54–55, and II: 405; and Crawfurd, “Description” 2: 291–326 (ff. 153–71). 38. Crawfurd, Inquiry; Letters; Notes; and View. 39. Collet, Life, pp. 266–68; CRR 1: 403–407.



212

213

40. Peter Auber to William Bentinck, May 6, 1831, in Philips, Correspondence 1: 626. 41. The letters are reprinted in CRR 2: 1072–85. 42. Entry for April 12, 1833, Henry Crabb Robinson Diary, vol. 15 (June 20, 1832–June 7, 1834), p. 108, DWL. 43. Collet, Life, pp. 318–21, 335–38, 382–83; EWG 2: 239–320 [EWNB 3: 1–85]. 44. EWG 2: 246–47, 250–52, 284, 290–92, 315 [EWNB 3: 18, 21–22, 51, 58–60, 81]. 45. Crawfurd, Notes, pp. 21–22; EWG 2: 284 (quotation), 317–18 [EWNB 3: 51 (quotation), 83–84]. 46. For good examples, see Crawfurd, “Description” 1: 291–326 [ff. 153–71]; and 2: 327–90 [ff. 172–203]. 47. Crawfurd, “Physical,” p. 81; Naoroji, “Observations.” An early example of his polygenism can be found in Crawfurd, “Description” 1: 39 [f. 25], note. See also Stocking, Victorian, pp. 64–69, 250–52, 255. 48. Crawfurd, “Description” 1: 291–326 [ff. 153–71]; Crawfurd, Journal 1: 26–28; Crawfurd, View, p. 16. 49. Majumdar, Progressive, p. 439; Rammohun Roy, “Remarks on Settlement in India by Europeans,” EWG 2: 315 [EWNG 3: 81]; Kling, Partner, p. 25. 50. Rammohun’s friendship with Johnston is discussed in the next chapter. 51. Sir Alexander Johnston, testimony and papers presented to the Select Committee on the East India Company’s affairs, July 6 and 9, 1832, BSP2, Colonies: East India, vol. 10, pp. 137–40, 147–50 (quotations, pp. 137, 139). 52. Ibid., p. 147 (see also p. 154). 53. Ibid., pp. 179–80; Crawfurd, Notes, p.15. 54. OH 4 (1825): 163; 6 (1825): 279–89 (quotation, 288); 7 (1825): 22–34, 229–39; 8 (1826): 457–70; 20 (1829): 10; and 23 (1829): 17. For the Company’s interest in panchayats, see Stein, Munro, pp. 181–82. 55. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. lxvi–lxviii, 340–52; OH 6 (1825): 171, 172–75; HPD2, 2d ser., vol. 11 (Commons, March 20, 1826), cols. 1–2. 56. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 339–40. 57. OH 14 (1827): 130–32 (quotation, 130). For Adam’s editorship, see CRR 1: 381. 58. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 368–70; CRR 1: 380, 383; OH 14 (1827): 132 (quotation). 59. Collet, Life, pp. 266–68 [CRR 1: 403–407]. 60. Majumdar, Progressive, p. 370; CRR 1: 380, 383. 61. CRR 2: 736. 62. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 360–68 (quotations, pp. 361, 366) [CRR 1: 356–76 (quotations, pp. 358, 372)]. 63. Collet, Life, pp. 267–68 [CRR 1: 403–405]. 64. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. lxxi–lxxiv, 371–74, 377–89 (especially, pp. 380, 382, 396); CRR 2: 736–49 (quotation, 748); Crawford, Ram Mohan, pp. 152–55. 65. “Conduct of Europeans in India” (Document 77), Appendix to the Report from the Select Committee on the Affairs of the East India Company, 1831–1832 (BSP2, Colonies: East India, vol. 5, pp. 343–80 [quotations, pp. 343, 348, 366]). The author’s conclusions are found on pp. 375, 377. 66. Philips, East, pp. 288–89. 67. BH, August 18, 1831, p. 3. 68. Philips, East, p. 290. See also Bowen, Business, pp. 296–98. 69. Times, June 13 and 15, 1831 (each, p. 5). These are reprinted with some errors in CRR 2: 1072–77. The views on colonization of “A Friend of the Rajah’s” are suggestive of Crawfurd, the great advocate of European planters and merchants in India and Southeast Asia.



NOTES

70. 71. 72. 73. 74.

75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87.

88.

NOTES Times, June 16, 1831, p. 3; see also CRR 1: 573–74. Sutherland, “Reminiscences.” AJ (NS) 5 (1831): 248. See, for example, The Satirist, July 10, 1831, p. 110 (accessed through BLP, RR [#61], and AJ (NS) 5 (August 1831): 236–37. MC, July 9, 1831, p. 3. The letter by “One of the Party” is printed, along with the Morning Chronicle account in CRR 2: 1090–95 (quotations, p. 1091). Biswas seems mistaken, however, in stating that the letter of correction was printed in the Morning Chronicle on July 11, 1831 and that the letter was written by Richard Taylor. I have been unable to find any such letter in the Chronicle for July 11 or the next several days. Moreover, Biswas cites a letter by James Yates as proof that Taylor wrote the letter (CRR 2: 1097). But Yates was referring to a correction published under a different pseudonym—“One who was Present”—and Yates wrote that this was published “the next day,” not two days later. (July 9, 1831 was a Saturday and the next edition of the Chronicle appeared on Monday, July 11.) In addition, after stating that Taylor’s letter “contains an exact account of what R. Roy said,” Yates went on to insist that Rammohun was indeed a Unitarian Christian. The recipient of Yates’ letter, Lant Carpenter, was deeply interested in Rammohun’s religious views. All this suggests that the letter by Taylor mentioned by Yates was in regard to Rammohun’s speech at the annual Unitarian meeting held on May 25, 1831. This speech was reported by the Morning Chronicle on May 26, and the very next day the Chronicle published a letter correcting its report of the speech. The letter of correction published on May 27 was by “One of the Hearers,” who gave a different version of what Rammohun said regarding his belief in Christianity (MC, May 26 and 27, 1831; James Yates to Lant Carpenter, July 23, 1831, LCC [CRR 2: 1097–98]). Biswas mentions that the text of the letter by “One of the Party” was given to him by J. K. Majumdar (CRR 2: 1095). Majumdar may have mistaken the date, or perhaps the letter was sent but not published. King, Survey, pp. 53–59, 205. OH 17 (1827): 30–32; AEI 2 (1831): 403–406; Roy, Civility, p. 86. Rickards, India 1: 10 (quotation), 122–35, 241–50, 266, 269–70, 277–91, 579–80, 626–30; and 2: 46, 333, 357–58, 374–88, 393–95. See also Roy, Civility, pp. 86–88. Rickards, India 1: 3; and 2: 384–85. Ibid., 1: 269–70; and 2: 385–86, 394–418 (Rammohun’s letters are found in 2: 414–16). The letters are printed also in CRR 1: 392–95, 397–400. AJ (NS) 7 (1832): 281–88 (quotations, 285). King, Survey, pp. 37–51; AJ (NS) 2 (August 1830): 201–203. Martin, Remarks, pp. 21–22, 24–28; King, Survey, p. 55; Bowen, Business, p. 16. King, Survey, p. 53; Philips, East, p. 289n. AEI 1 (1830–1831): 5, 39–43, 47–51 (quotations, 5, 39, 47, 49); Martin, History 1: 430–33. For the authorship of the two Martins, see King, Survey, pp. 55, 322, 405. AEI 1 (1830–1831): 42–43, 211–15 (quotation, 213). According to King, Martin authored the article about the Calcutta meeting (Survey, p. 405). AEI 1 (1830–1831): 557–66 (quotations, 560, 561, 565). For Martin’s authorship, see King, Survey, p. 405. For examples, see AEI 2 (1831): 294–97; 3 (1832): 246–58, 353–58, 386–88; and 6 (1833): 441–49 (especially, 442–45). None of these articles are on King’s list of those authored by Martin (Survey, pp. 405–406). King, Survey, pp. xv, 25–26, 86–101, 288–89.



214

215

89. Ibid., pp. 1–30, 45, 53–54, 99–95, 202–22. In 1831 Martin apparently first used the comment about the sun in Alexander’s: AEI 1 (1830–1831): 427; King, Survey, p. 56. 90. King, Survey, pp. 57–59; Martin, British, pp. 10, 67 (quotations), and Past, pp. 11–13, 196. 91. Martin, Political, pp. 54–57, 71–72, 112–13, 88–91, 106–107, 126–27; AEI 1 (1830– 1831): 8–9; AEI 2 (1831): 111–16; Martin, History 1: xi–xv; King, Survey, pp. 7–8, 148. In 1833 Martin also published under his own name an article criticizing “one–sided free trade” with India in the Asiatic Journal, the semiofficial journal of the Company: AJ (NS) 12 (1833): 262–68 (quotation, 268). 92. Martin, Political, pp. 222–23. Martin’s previous views are found in AEI 1 (1830–1831): 50 (quotation), and Majumdar, Progressive, p. 437. Arnot’s case is discussed below. 93. Martin, Political, pp. 181–82; AEI 1 (1830–1831): 47, 352–56 (quotation, 47). King attributes these articles to Martin (Survey, p. 405). 94. Martin, Political, pp. 373–94; Martin, Remarks, pp. 14, 29. See also AEI 1 (1830– 1831): 15. 95. Martin, Political, pp. 199–200 (quotation, p. 200); AEI 1 (1830–1831): 559–60; AEI 2 (1831): 355–58 (quotation, 357). For Martin’s authorship of these articles, see King, Survey, pp. 405–406. 96. AEI 2 (1831): 294. 97. Martin, Political, pp. 213–14fn. Blair Kling cites Tagore’s public speech as evidence that the Bengali favored colonization (Partner, p. 27). 98. Martin, Political, pp. 210–216 (quotation, p. 210). 99. Ibid., pp. 216–17. For the relevant passages in Rammohun’s written testimony, see EWG 2: 284 [EWNB 3: 50–51]; for his praise of colonization, see Majumdar, Progressive, p. 439, and AEI 1 (1830–1831): 211. 100. Arnot, Sketch, pp. 3–6, 13–16, 25–38, 47–50, 64–65, 68, 81–83. 101. Buckingham, Defence, pp. 49–52, 57–67, 70–72; Turner, Buckingham, pp. 190, 194–95, 218–19, 248–49. 102. Arnot, Sketch, title page, pp. 23, 46–47 (quotation, p. 47); for the passage in the original petition to the privy council, see CRR 1: 253–54. Arnot does not mention Rammohun as author of the petition, although he does so for the memorial to the Supreme Court (Sketch, p. 20). Buckingham and Stanhope, however, had publicly linked Rammohun to the petition by this time, so there can be little doubt of Arnot’s intention here. 103. BH, June 20, 1832, p. 3; July 6, 1832, p. 3; and November 21, 1832, pp 3–4. These comments were likely by James Young, who became editor of the Hurkaru in 1832 (King, Survey, pp. 47–48). 104. Buckingham, “Sketch,” pp. 118–20. 105. Johnston’s influential testimony is discussed above; for Macaulay’s role in the passage of the charter renewal act, see Philips, East, pp. 293–97, and Clive, Macaulay, pp. 230–31, 309–12. 106. Rammohun’s influence on Grant was public knowledge at the time: see Crawford, Ram Mohan, p. 155. 107. “Conduct of Europeans in India” (Document 77), Appendix to the Report from the Select Committee on the Affairs of the East India Company, 1831–1832 (BSP2, Colonies: East India, vol. 5, p. 375). 108. See, for example, Oriental Literary Observer (Calcutta), December 25, 1831, p. 622, and AJ (NS) 12 (1833): 11 (both accessed through BLP, RMR [#42, 51]); also, Naval and Military Gazette, January 11, 1834, p. 29. 109. Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 391–401 (the comment about Rammohun is on p. 400); see also CRR 2: 736–49.



NOTES

NOTES

110. Kling, Partner, pp. 18–19, 49; Martin, History, I, p. 408; Ahmed, Social, pp. 70–71; King, Survey, pp. 47–52. 111. AEI 1 (1830–1831): 571–77; and 2 (1831): 231–41. See also King, Survey, pp. 4, 56, 405–406. Additional mention of the idea can be found in AEI 4 (1832): 105–109; and 5 (1833): 126. 112. HPD2, 3d ser., vol. 6 (Commons, August 16, 1831), cols. 111–43. For the Calcutta seat, see col. 116. 113. Majumdar, Progressive, p. 400. 114. For examples of these views, see AEI 1 (1830–1831): 571–77; AEI 2 (1831): 111–16, 231–41; and the dedication to King William in Martin, History 1: iii–vii (quotation, v). King notes that Martin’s enthusiasm for colonial representation was strongest at the time of the 1832 and 1867 Reform Acts: Survey, pp. 4, 56.

8


1. According to Joseph Tuckerman, Rammohun was working on a life of Muhammad that he intended to publish in England: diary, 15 and 16 August 1833, Joseph Tuckerman Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society. The unfinished biography is mentioned by William J. Fox too: Discourse, p. 55. 2. AEI 6 (1833): 447. The writer claimed to have met Rammohun in 1816 at his “garden-house in the eastern suburb of Calcutta” (p. 442). John Crawfurd is one possible author. He held various posts in India (1803–1808) and Southeast Asia (1808–1816), and then returned to Britain in 1817 (C. M. Turnbull, “Crawfurd, John [1783–1868],” DNB). Harsh comments in the obituary about William Bentinck’s reduction in the batta (allowances) of the Company’s army officers (p. 444) suggest another possibility, a retired military officer. Neither James Silk Buckingham nor Robert Montgomery Martin was in Bengal in 1816. 3. See copies of letters written to Johnston, dated June 23, 1806 through August 15 1817, in Johnston’s letter book: RCS, RCMS92/1. The quotations are from a letter dated August 15, 1817, written on Johnston’s final departure from Ceylon and signed by some 80 individuals. 4. Collet, Life, pp. 23–25, 57; Banerji, ‘Service,” pp. 575–76; Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 21–23; Martin, “Rajah.” 5. Rammohun Roy to Sir Charles Forbes, October 29, 1831, BL, APAC, MSS Eur B399. 6. Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 1 (1834): 159 (accessed through BLP, RMR [#62]. 7. OH 16 (1828): 131–36. The letter is also in Johnston’ papers presented to the Select Committee on the East India Company’s affairs, July 6 and 9, 1832, BSP2, Colonies: East India, vol. 10, pp. 152–55, and in Majumdar, Progressive, pp. 342–47. For the Calcutta Chronicle, see Ahmed, Social, pp. 66–67. 8. TRAS 3 (1833): Appendix II (xiv–xv). Rammohun’s membership is recorded in a list of members printed at the end of this volume, using separate pagination; Rammohun’s name is on p. 29. 9. This letter—not included in CRR—is printed in Literary Gazette, October 5, 1833, p. 637, along with the portion of Johnston’s speech regarding Rammohun. The speech is also in Literary Gazette, August 25, 1832, p. 530. 10. The planned translation may have spawned a satirical piece mocking Brougham that had the Whig reformer referring to Rammohun preparing a newspaper translation for the benefit of the Great Mughal: Figaro in London May 30, 1835, pp. 91–92 (accessed through BLP, RR [#130]).



216

217

11. AEI 6 (1833): 447–48. These comments were reprinted or paraphrased elsewhere: Literary Gazette, October 5, 1833, p. 636; Gentleman’s Magazine, 103, part 2 (1833): 367. 12. AP, pp. 9, 161; Rammohun Roy, A Present to the Believers in One God: Being a Translation of the Tuhfatul Muwahhiddin, EWG 4: 945–50 (quotation, p. 948). The deistic and Epicurean tendencies of the Essay on Man are discussed in Maynard Mack’s introduction to AP, pp. xxiii–xxvi; Humphreys, “Pope,” pp. 61–64, 69–71, 76–77, 93–94; and Mack, Pope, pp. 736–41. For Pope’s critique of sectarianism, see Mack, Pope, pp. 108, 338–39, 600–602, 739. 13. For an example, see MR 4 (1809): 383. 14. Le Breton, Memoirs, pp. xx, 369. 15. Wakefield et al., Memoirs 2: 54–61, 81–95. For Wakefield’s Unitarian views, see ibid., 1: 120–32, 179–86, 249–51, 376–80; and Holt, Unitarian, p. 120. 16. Roscoe, Works 2: iii–xiii. The Pope controversy is traced in van Rennes, Bowles. 17. Wakefield et al., Memoirs vol. 2, Chaps. 6–7, Appendices E, F (Wakefield’s admiration of Pope’s social criticism is found on pp. 409 and 427–428). 18. Roscoe, Works 1: 93, 419–33, 474–85. For details surrounding Pope’s Imitations and the Narrative, see Mack, Pope, pp. 218–25, 562–70. 19. MR 19 (1824): 421–23; the reference to Pope is footnoted on p. 422. 20. Wood, Radical, Chaps. 1, 4. 21. Ibid., pp. 147–48. Pope’s Revenge is discussed in Mack, Pope, p. 296. 22. Wood, Radical, p. 3. 23. Ibid., pp. 96–121; Hole, Pulpits, pp. 214–20. 24. Hole, Pulpits, pp. 218–219. 25. Aspland, Memoir, pp. 374–88; Hole, Pulpits, p. 219; William Hone Papers, BL, Add. Mss. 40,108, ff. 122, 124, 244, 309, 311; Add. Mss. 40,117, ff. 37, 61–62; and Add. Mss. 40,120 (Part I), ff. 63–64, 83–84. 26. Mineka, Dissidence, pp. 81–82. 27. CR 3 (1817): 504–506. 28. Humor in lower-class radicalism has been examined by many scholars. For examples, see Thompson, Making, pp. 719–23; Hendrix, “Popular”; McCalman, Radical, pp. 118–23; and Wood, Radical, pp. 97–99 29. CR 4 (1818): 10–13 (quotation, 12). 30. EWG1, pp. 289–94; EWNB 4: 75–79; EWG 4: 909–13 (EWG is a reprint of the 1906 Allahabad single-volume edition, which contains the “Dialogue” on the same pages). For the presumption that Rammohun authored the English original as well as Bengali translation, see Collet, Life, p. 141 (also the editors’ note and bibliography, pp. 141fn, 529, 535); Banerji, “Three Tracts,” p. 627; Singh, Rammohun, p. 256; CRR 1: 307 (editorial note); and Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 36, 119. 31. MR 19 (1824): 235. Aspland was right. The versions of the “Dialogue” found in the Christian Reformer and the various editions of Rammohun’s English works are identical, except for the most minor of variations in spelling and punctuation. 32. MR 19 (1824): 235. For claims regarding Rammohun’s authorship, see Banerji, “Three Tracts,” p. 624; Killingley, Rammohun, p. 142fn. 33. MR 19 (1824): 235. For the original tracts, see CR 1 (1815): 86–91; 2 (1816): 19–20; and 3 (1817): 24–27. The Calcutta republications are found in Banerji, “Three Tracts,” pp. 624–28. 34. Marshman’s reply to the Final Appeal is in FI (QS) 3 (1825): 89–186, 393–592. 35. Collet, Life, pp. 128–30, 160; Singh, Rammohun, pp. 250–52; Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 120–21. Robertson questions whether Rammohun’s authored these tracts, conceding



NOTES

36. 37.

38. 39. 40. 41.

42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64.

NOTES only the portions addressing Christian doctrine as probably his (Rammohan, pp. 38–39). Part of Robertson’s argument is that the author of the Magazine refers to Rammohun preparing his own reply to the missionaries and thus the author cannot be Rammohun. This neglects the possibility that Rammohun found rhetorical advantage in using multiple guises, a point Killingley stresses. In any event, there is little doubt that Rammohun authored the key passages about Christianity. Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 118–21. Shivuprusad Surma [Rammohun Roy], The Brahmunical Magazine or the Missionary and the Brahmun (1821, 1823), EWG 1: 145–46, 148, 161–64, 166, 169–72, 187–98 [EWNB 2: 137–38, 140, 153–58, 161–64, 179–89]. Much of the debate was carried on in the pages of the India Gazette: see the letters to the editor in the following issues: May 26 and 29, and June 2, 5, 9, and 12, 1823. MR 19 (1824): 235–36. For the dating of the first Ram Doss letter, see CRR 1: 149–50. CRR 1: 87– 102, 137–47 (quotation, 99). Ibid., 102–37 (quotations, 103, 130). Most of these letters were reprinted by Rammohun in A Vindication of the Incarnation of the Deity: EWG 4: 887–908 [EWNB 4: 53–74]. The fullest collection of the letters is found, along with valuable editorial notes, in CRR 1: 87–162. Roy, Second Appeal to the Christian Public, in Defence of “The Precepts of Jesus” (1821), EWG 3: 582–83, 623, 675 [EWNB 6: 15, 51, 97]. CRR 1: 66, 349–50, 387. MR (NS) 1 (1827): 547. CRR 1: 67, 335. For some of the other pseudonyms that many scholars agree Rammohun used, see CRR 1: 38–44, and 2: 824–31, 855–58; Collet, Life, p. 217; and Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 12–14, 121, 129fn. Doubts have been raised about some of these attributions: see Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 38–39, 53–54, 74–81, and Michael Fisher, private communication and Counterflows, p. 259. Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 118–24. For a good discussion, see Weinbrot, Satire, especially Chap. 3. Mack, Pope, pp. 522–23. I rely here on Mack’s account (Pope, pp. 235–28, 441–42). Hammond, Selected, pp. 73–88. CRR 1: 104, 127; Hammond, Selected, p. 77. Bayly, Empire, pp. 201–203, 207–210. Sivanath Sastri, History of the Brahmo Samaj, quoted in Collet, Life, p. 288. Calcutta Review, March 1852, p. 17 (accessed through BLP, RR [#215]). See also Collet, Life, p. 288. CRR 1: 122–25. Ibid., pp. 127–30. Ibid., pp. 126–27. I am indebted here to Chakrabarty, Provincializing. Roy, Second Appeal, EWG 3: 609–611 [EWNB 6: 39–40]. See also Roy, Final Appeal to the Christian Public in Defence of “The Precepts of Jesus” (1823), EWG 3: 680, 689, 691. CRR 1: 106. Wickwar, Struggle, pp. 25–26. These issues are examined in Clark, English, pp. 262–64, 318–27, and Waterman, “Nexus.” Hole, Pulpits, pp. 218–19.



218

219

65. After his trials some urged Hone not to publish any more parodies of the Trinity because of the continued risk of prosecution for the authors or printers: Rev. Dr. [Samuel] Parr to Hone, April 13, 1819, in William Hone Papers, BL, Add. Mss. 40, 108, ff. 8–10. 66. Wickwar, Struggle, pp. 18–28, 88–94, 134–36; Wiener, Radicalism, Chap. 3; Fryer, Staying, pp. 226–27. 67. Fox, Duties, pp. iii–iv, 46–47. 68. MR 14 (1819): 64, 129–30, 645, 707–712, 714–15; Aspland, Memoir, pp. 413–18. Carlile’s trial and claims occasioned considerable dissension among Unitarians: see MR, 15 (1820): 106–12, 137–38, 160–61, 208–212. 69. Clark, English, pp. 493–95. Clark includes Hone among the atheists, which is highly doubtful, given Hone’s support from respectable Unitarians such as Aspland. See also Hole, Pulpits, pp. 215–16. 70. Wickwar, Struggle, pp. 22–23, 25–26; Jeremy Bentham to William Smith, January 24 and February, 1818, in Bentham, Church, “Preface on Publication,” pp. xvi–xvii, xxxviii–xli (quotation, p. xl); Clark, English, pp. 489–92. For the Anglican clergyman’s view, see MR 14 (1819): 707. 71. Carlile’s sense of martyrdom is examined by Wood, Radical, p. 140, and Wiener, Radicalism, p. 48. 72. For a good account of Wedderburn, see Iain McCalman’s introduction to Wedderburn, Horrors. Also useful is Fryer, Staying, pp. 220–27. 73. McCalman, “Ultra-Radicalism,” pp. 314–16, 320–25; McCalman, introduction to Wedderburn, Horrors, pp. 20–26 (quotation, p. 24); McCalman, Radical, Chap. 7. 74. Wedderburn, Horrors, pp. 23, 113 (quotation); McCalman, “Ultra-Radicalism,” p. 324 (quotation); Fryer, Staying, p. 326. 75. MR 15 (1820): 177–78. 76. McCalman, Radical, Chap. 8. 77. Buckland, Dictionary, p. 31. 78. W. B. Bayley, Minute of October 10, 1822, in BL, APAC, Bengal Public Consultations, P/10/55. 79. Ibid. See also Singh, Rammohun, pp. 298–99. 80. Bayley, Minute of October 10, 1822. See also Ahmed, Social, p. 92. 81. Le Bas, Life 2: 322–25. 82. CJ, July 13, 1822, p. 187. 83. Bayley, Minute of October 10, 1822. 84. Ibid. See also Singh, Rammohun, pp. 296–97, and Ahmed, Social, pp. 90–92. 85. Quoted in Bayley, Minute of October 10, 1822. 86. Ibid.; Singh, Rammohun, p. 298; Ahmed, Social, p. 91. 87. Quoted in Zastoupil, Mill, p. 57. See also Peers, Between, pp. 63–65. 88. J. Pattison and W. Wigram to Charles Watkin Williams Wynn, January 17, 1823, in BL, APAC, Home Misc. Series, vol. 535, pp. 265–67. 89. W. Wigram and W. Astell to Charles Watkin Williams Wynn, June 5, 1823, in BL, APAC, Home Misc. Series, vol. 536, pp. 750–52. This letter is printed and has its own pagination (pp. 108–110). 90. MR 20 (1825): 273–74. The letter is reprinted in CRR 1: 325–28; for more on the now lost second pamphlet of Ram Doss–Tytler correspondence, see CRR 1: 137–38. 91. MR 19 (1824): 237, 296–301 (quotation, 301). 92. MR 20 (1825): 273. 93. Ibid., pp. 273–74. 94. MR (NS) 5 (1831): 426.



NOTES

NOTES

95. For investigation of these issues, see Kopf, Brahmo, pp. 15–23, 177–79, 268–69; Thomas, Acknowledged, Chaps. 3–6; Lavan, Unitarians, Chaps. 8–10, and the essays by Eric Sharpe, Hal French, David Kopf, and Arabinda Basu in Sharma, Neo-Hindu. 96. CRR 1: 71–72, 267 (quotation). 97. Rammohun Roy to Henry Ware, February 2, 1824, in CRR 1: 281–82. 98. Rammohun Roy to Thomas Belsham, December 1823 (?), and to Thomas Rees, June 4, 1824, in CRR 1: 175–76, 317–18. 99. Joseph Tuckerman, diary, 15 and 23 August 1833, Joseph Tuckerman Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society. 100. ChR, May 16, 1823, p. 158; CRR 1: 73. Jared Sparks was recipient of the second letter cited here and possibly the first one as well. 101. ChR, March 6, 1830, p. 39. 102. CRR 2: 668, 729–30 (quotation, 730); Joseph Tuckerman, diary, 15 August 1833, Joseph Tuckerman Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society; Lavan, Unitarians, pp. 70–71. 103. For a recent discussion of this, see Bayly, “Rammohan.” See also Collet, Life, pp. 130–31, 161–63, and Plates VIa–b. 104. Sutherland, “Reminiscences.” 105. William Roscoe to Lord Brougham, April 15, 1831, LRC: Roscoe Papers, 920 ROS, 514; Roscoe, Life 2: 317–19; CRR 2: 1069–71. 106. Sutherland, “Reminiscences.” 107. Philips, Correspondence 1: 659. 108. Anonymous account dated March 19, 1832, BL, APAC, MSS Eur B259; this is printed in CRR 2: 1104–1107. 109. The Age, April 15, 1832, p. 126 (accessed through BLP, RR [#74]). 110. Rammohun Roy to William Rathbone, July 31, 1832, in Carpenter, Last, p. 67. The letter is reprinted in CRR 2: 732–33, but the word “bribery” is omitted. 111. Rammohun to Rathbone, in Carpenter, Last, p. 67; CRR 2: 733. 112. Modern Review, 30, 1 (1921): 90–94. 113. TA, p. iv (Digby’s preface). 114. Collet, Life, pp. 37–39. 115. Aspland, Memoir, 118, 132–35, 180, 216, 358, 505; Roscoe, Life 1: 221–22, 305–34, 361–64, and 2: 324; Lean Napoleonists, pp. xi–xii, 31, 46, 56, 208–213; McCalman, “New,” p. 331 (quotation). 116. Lean, Napoleonists, pp. 99–101, 126–203. 117. Shaw, “Calcutta,” pp. 92–94, 107. 118. Moore, Rammohun, pp. 121–22; MR 15 (1820): 1. At this time Grégoire was concerned with the plight of Africans, conditions in Haiti, and the slave trade: see Necheles, Grégoire, Chaps. 12–13. 119. Buckingham, “Sketch,” p. 116. 120. Collet, Life, pp. 390–92; CRR 2: 676–80; Garcin de Tassy, Histoire, p. 548; Jacquemont, Letters 1: 325. 121. Collet, Life, pp. 341–43; Carpenter, Review, p. 116; Banerji, “Last Days,” pp. 382–83; Garcin de Tassy, Histoire, p. 554. 122. Penny Satirist September 15, 1838, p. 3 (accessed through BLP, RR [#152]). 123. Journal des Débats (Paris), October 15, 1832, p. 2; Carpenter, Review, p. 116; AJ (NS) 12 (1833): 207. 124. Journal des Savans (Paris), December 1832, pp. 705–717. For Burnouf and Rammohun’s election, see Collet, Life, p. 391.



220

221

125. CRR 2: 768–69. Before his departure, Rammohun corresponded with the Board of Control about his visit and enclosed a draft letter to the French authorities objecting to the required passport: BL, APAC, Home Misc. Series, vol. 708, pp. 289–91, 297–311 (also printed in CRR 2: 698–706). 126. Sutherland, “Reminiscences”. 127. AJ (NS) 12 (1833): 212. For Arnot’s authorship of the concluding portions of the obituary in the Asiatic Journal, including this passage, see AJ (NS) 16 (1835): 24. 128. Carpenter, Review, pp. 126–27. 129. BL, APAC, MSS Eur F88/85. This signed letter is dated May 13, 1833 and is written in Rammohun’s hand, which is quite unsteady and reflects the poor health he comments on in the letter. It is boxed with a letter to Elphinstone by J. Strachey of Bristol, who comments on Rammohun’s death and burial. 130. Bayly, “Rammohan,” pp. 38–39. 131. Mirat al-Akhbar, October 11, 1822, quoted in CJ, October 16, 1822, p. 623. 132. For a few examples, see CJ, July 24, 1822, p. 328; September 20, 1822, pp. 257–57; October 16, 1822, pp. 612–20. 133. McDowell, Public, p. 151. 134. Times, October 3, 1833, p. 3; Martin, “Rammohun,” p. 390. Another obituary claimed that Rammohun was a republican “or rather, what we should now call a Radical”: Preston Chronicle, October 5, 1833 (accessed through BLN, RR [#29]). See also Scoresby, Memorial, p. 73. 135. Buckingham, “Sketch,” pp. 116, 119–20. 136. AJ (NS) 12 (1833): 211. For Arnot’s authorship of this passage, see note 127 to this chapter. 137. Sutherland, “Remininscences.” 138. Anonymous account of a conversation with Rammohun Roy, dated March 19, 1832: BL, APAC, MSS Eur B259. This account is also printed in CRR 2: 1104–1107, but with transcription errors: “choosing a king,” for example, is rendered as “chasing a king.” 139. Caledonian Mercury (Edinburgh), March 14, 1833 (accessed through BLN, RR [#18]). A similar account of the meeting and Rammohun’s comment is in Oriental Observer (Calcutta), August 3, 1833, p. 371 (accessed through BLP, RR [#99]). 140. Buckingham, “Sketch,” p. 116. 141. CRR 2: 807. 142. Ibid., p. 730. 143. Banerji, Rajah Rammohun, “Rajah Rammohun I,” “Rajah Rammohun II,” “Political Mission I,” “Political Mission II,” “Engagements,” and “Embassy”; Majumdar, Moghuls; and Fisher, Counterflows, Chaps. 7–9. 144. See, for example, Rammohun Roy to Charles Grant, October 11 and November 4, 1831, and Grant’s draft memo, December 1, 1831, in BL, APAC, Home Misc. Series, vol. 708, pp. 155–58, 179–200, 235–55. 145. Fisher, Counterflows, pp. 256–57. 146. Ibid., p. 255; Banerji, Rajah Rammohun, p. 35; Banerji, “Embassy”; and Banerji, “Political Mission I,” p. 19. The pamphlet and Rammohun’s covering letter can be found in BL, APAC, Home Misc. Series, vol. 708, pp. 1–5, 607–52. They are also reproduced in Modern Review (Banerji, “Political Mission I,” p. 19, and “Embassy”) and CRR 1: 577–655. 147. Rammohun Roy to the Chairman and Deputy Chairman of the East India Company, June 25, 1831, in BL, APAC, Home Misc. Series vol. 708, p. 2. The author of



NOTES

148.

149. 150. 151. 152. 153. 154. 155. 156. 157.

NOTES Rammohun’s obituary in the Times claimed to have a copy too (October 3, 1833, p. 3). CRR 1: 657. In a December 1823 letter, Rammohun refers to a friend named Roberts who was leaving for Britain; this friend was associated with a Calcutta agency house, which is suggestive of Brown Roberts: CRR 1: 174, 180. Mittra, Memoir, pp. 84, 103, 112; Kling, Partner, pp. 83, 231; Kripalani, Dwarkanath, pp. 173, 278. For examples of such agents, see Fisher, Counterflows, pp. 264–65, 413. Aspinall, “Social,” pp. 224–25. McCalman, Radical, pp. 162–77 (quotation, p. 163), Chap. 10. See also Aspinall, Politics, pp. 168–69, 274, 310–311. BL, APAC, Home Misc. Series, vol. 708, pp. 577–84 (quotations, pp. 581–82). H. H. Wilson to Ramcomul Sen, December 21, 1833, in Mittra, Life, pp. 14–15. For examples, see McCalman, Radical, p. 163; and Aspinall, Politics, p. 168, and “Social,” pp. 221–22. Sandford Arnot, letter to the editor, Times, November 23, 1833, p. 3. It must be noted that Rammohun and his family stood to gain financially from the success of his negotiations on behalf of Akbar: see Majumdar, Moghuls, pp. lx, 244–45.

9

R AMMOHUN ROY, MP?

1. I thank Fred Rosen for inviting me to dine with the members of the Bentham Project in February 2001, when the Auto-Icon was exhibited before a group of admirers, as the philosopher wished. 2. Parry, Last, pp. 154–59 (quotation, p. 159). 3. For Bentham’s interest in sexual nonconformity and homophobia, see Crompton, Byron, Chap. 1, and Campos Boralevi Bentham, Chap. 3. 4. See the correspondence of Place, a printed copy of the society’s address to the public, and Place’s diary, in the Francis Place Papers, BL, Add. Mss. 35149, ff. 34–74; and Add. Mss. 36146, ff. 133–37. A brief account of the PCS is found in Butler, Passing, pp. 208–209. 5. J. B. Yates (?) to Lant Carpenter, April 16, 1831, LCC. On April 19, the Morning Chronicle alerted its readers that Rammohun was staying with “an East-Indian gentleman”—probably Crawfurd—near Regent’s Street (MC, April 19, 1831, p. 4). 6. Sutherland, “Reminiscences.” 7. WJB 11: 66. 8. Crimmins, Secular, p. 4n. For Empson’s relationship with Bentham, see CJB 11: 75, 190. 9. Empson, “Memoirs,” pp. 506–507. 10. AEI 6 (1833): 445. For who might have authored this, see chapter 8, note 2. 11. Sen, “Some New Light,” pp. 466–69; see also CRR 2: 720–23. The dinner was the Royal Asiatic Society’s annual meeting, held on July 16, 1831: see Minutes of Council of the Royal Asiatic Society, vol. 3, June 18, 1831 session, RAS; and Literary Gazette, July 9 and 23, 1831, pp. 447, 475. Williams Wynn’s tenure at the Board of Control is discussed in Sen, “Some New Light,” pp. 467–68, and Peers, Between, p. 23. 12. AEI 6 (1833): 445. 13. James Young to Jeremy Bentham, September 14, 1824, and September–October 1825?, CJB 12: 41 (quotation), 167–68.



222

223

14. Pitts, Turn, pp. 103–22 (quotation, p. 109). 15. Crimmins, “Bentham,” p. 95; Crimmins, Secular, pp. 1–2, 318; and Rosen, Jeremy Bentham, pp. 5–6. 16. I rely here on Crimmins, Secular, “Bentham,” and “Bentham’s Metaphysics,” as well as Steintrager, “Language.” 17. Steintrager, “Language,” pp. 4–6. 18. Bentham used the term repeatedly. For a few examples see, Bentham, Church, pp. 6–8, 19, 37; and Bentham Not, pp. iii, 37–39. 19. Bentham, Church, “Plan of the Work,” p. xxxv. 20. Bentham, Church, pp. 17–19; Crimmins, Secular, pp. 177–78. 21. Bentham, Not, pp. vi–vii, 217, 391–94. 22. Crimmins, Secular, pp. 229–31. 23. MR 19 (1824): 475, 613–24 (quotations, 475, 624). Under review here are both Bentham’s work and a reply to it by the Unitarian John Jones; for more on Jones’ reply, see Crimmins, Secular, pp. 230–31. 24. Garnett and Garnett, Life, p. 50. 25. Sarah Austin to Jeremy Bentham, January 11, 1825?, CJB 12: 92. Martin is not identified as a Unitarian, but Austin described him as a friend of Joseph Parkes. Bentham indicated that Martin was “a sort of pupil” of Priestley (ibid.: 113). Austin and Parkes were both Unitarians and close to Bentham. 26. Schofield, Enlightened, p. 245; Holt, Unitarian, pp. 246–47; Rosen, Bentham, pp. 159–60. 27. Thomas Wright Hill to Jeremy Bentham, March 8, 1824, CJB 11: 360–61. 28. Bentham, Church, “Preface on Publication,” pp. xiv–xlii. Crimmins suggests Bentham printed these letters to lessen the risk of prosecution for blasphemy (Secular, p. 151). 29. CJB 11: 52–53. 30. CJB 11: 146–47; CJB 12: 94–95 (quotation), 476–79; Herstein, Mid-Victorian, pp. 57–58, 79; Levine, Victorian, pp. 33, 87, 92, 137. 31. Bartle, Old, p. 18; CJB 11: xxx, 286; Nesbitt, Benthamite, pp. 26–29. Bartle and Nesbitt identify Southern as a Unitarian. 32. Lucy Aikin to W. E. Channing, February 2, 1834, in Le Breton, Correspondence, p. 197. 33. Colls, Utilitarianism, p. 35. For more on Colls’ critique, see Conway, “Colls.” 34. Bartle, Old, pp. 3–5, 11–12, 18–27, 30–31; Rosen, “Bowring,” pp. 17–22, 27; Webb, “Bowring,” pp. 43, 47–50, 55–61; Conway, “John Bowring,” pp. 345–47, 354–58; Conway, “Bowring,” pp. 29–31. 35. Jeremy Bentham to Rammohun Roy, December 1827? and February 1828, CJB 12: 451. Bowring moved into Queen Square Place in October 1827 (ibid.: 385n). 36. Biswas prints a letter dated December 15, 1822 written by Rammohun Roy supposedly to John Bowring (CRR 1: 75–77). The source is a copy made from an original letter held by a grandson of Bowring. The copy was given to Brajendra Nath Banerji, who first published it in the Modern Review in 1927 (Banerji, “Unpublished); the letter is also printed, with an incorrect date, in EWNB 4: 113–14. Something was lost in the process of copying. In the letter as printed, Rammohun twice mentions the approaching departure from India for Europe of the person to whom he was writing. This person could not have been Bowring. Bowring was imprisoned by the French from early October to the middle of November 1822, and he visited Bentham in London on November 18 (Bartle, Old, pp. 13–14; CJB, XI, p. 162n). It would have been impossible to reach India



NOTES

37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43.

44.

45. 46.

47. 48.

49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62.

NOTES a month later. In his autobiographical remarks, Bowring mentions visiting India only in 1851 (Bowring, Autobiograpical, p. 227). Possibly this letter was given to Bowring by the original addressee. In it Rammohun alludes to completing his Final Appeal to the Christian Public. The recipient may have been a Unitarian who passed it on to Bowring or the British and Foreign Unitarian Association. Bowring became foreign secretary of that body in 1827 (Webb, “Bowring,” pp. 48–49). MR (NS) 5 (1831): 418–19. Rammohun Roy to Jeremy Bentham, July 13, 1831, BL, Add. Mss. 33546, ff. 506–507; CRR 2: 672–73, 711, 719. Bowring, Autobiographical, p. 395. An editorial note (p. 396) indicates that this passage was written in 1861. Bentham to Roy, December 1827? and February 8, 1828, CJB 12: 447. CWJB, LW, pp. xi–xxxv; CWJB, SM, pp. xv–xliii; Williford, Bentham; Rosen, Bentham. Jeremy Bentham to Nikolai Mordvinov, August 16?, 1824, CJB 12: 12. Besides Colonels Leicester Stanhope, James Young, and Francis Hall, the list includes naval officers Edward Blaquiere and Basil Hall: Rosen, Bentham, pp. 125–63; Williford, Bentham, pp. 26, 40–41, 84–85; CJB 11: 75–81, 115, 148, 166–68, 345–47, 449; CJB 12: 59. Rosen, Bentham, pp. 116, 143–63, 181, 191, 196, 201–202, 223–26; CWJB, SM, pp. xlii–xliii; Stanhope, Greece, pp. 46, 51, 55–56, 63, 135, 142–43, 167. Rosen cautions that Stanhope’s agendas should not be confused with Bentham’s (Bentham, pp. 9–10, 15, 175–79, 289–300). CJB 11: 281–82, and 12: 26–30, 35–46, 165–71. CJB 12: 190, 360, 418–20, 430n, 449, 456–60. For Bentham and Hall, see CJB, 11: 75–81, 115, 148, 166–68, 190–91, 345–47; and Williford, Bentham, pp. 26, 40–41, 84–85. CJB 12: 419–20 (quotation, p. 420), 447–51, 456–60. Ibid., pp. 201, 217–18 (quotation), 260–64, 279–81, 283 (quotation), 327–31, 334, 350–56; Williford, Bentham, pp. 27–30, 107–13, 118–19; Bumgartner, Valle, pp. 22–23, 258–60, 267; Harris, “English,” pp. 217–18, 233. CJB 12: 450–51. Ibid., p. 447. Habermas, Structural, pp. 99–101; Rosen, Jeremy Bentham, pp. 24–28, 73–75; Postema, Bentham, pp. 364–75, 411–12; Cutler, “Bentham.” CWJB, SM, p. xv; WJB 8: 555–600. Hume, “Preparations”; CWJB, SM, pp. xv–xxxvi. CWJB, SM, pp. 120 (quotation), 129. Ibid., pp. 45–46, 54–64 (quotations, pp. 45, 57, 59–60). Ibid., p. 57; for the dating of this passage, see the editor’s introduction, p. xxii. Jeremy Bentham to Abraham John Valpy, September 4, 1823, CJB 11: 287. CRR 1: 217–18, 246. Ibid., pp. 237 (quotation), 245. Colls, Utilitarianism, pp. 19–20. CJB 11: xxx, xxxv, 287–88, 348n, 426; and 12: 58, 213–16. Bentham can be excused for thinking this. The satirical letter to the editor in Rammohun’s name published by The Age had the Bengali proclaiming a desire to use his wealth to promote “the happiness of the greatest number”: The Age, April 21, 1833, p. 123 (accessed through BLP, RR [#92]).



224

63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76.

77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83.

225

CJB 12: 447. CJB 11: 348n. Salbstein, Emancipation, p. 51; Gilam, Emancipation, p. 14. Salbstein, Emancipation, pp. 52, 59–66; Gilam, Emancipation, pp. 18, 72–80. Jeremy Bentham, “Swear Not at All,” WJB 5: 195, 201–202, 208, 212–14; Crimmins, Secular, pp. 129–38. Campos Boralevi, Bentham, Chap. 4 (quotation, p. 91). Salbstein, Emancipation, pp. 69–70; Gilam, Emancipation, pp. 81–82. The Age, April 21, 1833, p. 123 (accessed through BLP, RR [#92]). AEI 6 (1833): 443. Potts, British, p. 223; Viswanathan, Outside, p. 79. Adam, “Lecture,” p. 400. Collet, Life, pp. 42–54. Carpenter, Review, pp. 26, 30, 108 (quotation), 121–22; Porter, Growth, p. 44. Potts, British, pp. 222–23; Marshman, Life, 2: 457 (quotation); Ilbert, Government, pp. 391–92. The correspondence between the Court of Directors and Bengal is printed in the Appendix (Public) to the report of the Select Committee, BSP2: Colonies, East India, vol. 6, pp. 344–53. Viswanathan, Outside, pp. 78–79; Ilbert, Government, pp. 391–93. Bartle, Old, pp. 36–40; Bowring, Autobiographical, p. 387. Fisher, Counterflows, pp. 183–84, 318–36. Mittra, Memoir, pp. 116–17. Liverpool Mercury January 17, 1851; Examiner July 24, 1851 (both accessed through BLN, RR [#58, 65]). Salbstein, Emancipation, pp. 238–41. Masani, Naoroji, pp. 97–109 (quotation, p. 106).

EPILOGUE: A FITTING STATUE ON COLLEGE GREEN 1. Ashoke Sen, “Linking Bristol to Calcutta,” Nonesuch, Spring 1998, p. 24. 2. Bristol Evening Post, May 21, 2003, p. 10. 3. Anonymous letter to the editor, Bristol Evening Post, June 4, 2003, p. 11. The letter writer describes himself/herself as a member of several committees that requested a statue of Rammohun in Bristol and a trustee of Arnos Vale Cemetery, where Rammohun’s tomb is. More debate on the statue followed. For a summary, see the article “Carla Contractor in Kolkata,” at this Web site: http://www.thebrahmosamaj.net/articles/carlacontractor. html (accessed May 18, 2010). 4. The phrase “gross absurdities” is in an 1824 letter: CRR 1: 349. 5. The same can be said of the memorial plaque to Mary Carpenter prominently located inside the cathedral. 6. Quoted in “Carla Contractor in Kolkata” (see epilogue, note 3). 7. Two recent surveys of the subject are Visram, Asians, and Fisher, Lahiri, and Thandi, South-Asian.

APPENDIX A: HALF A CHRISTIAN? 1. Montgomery, Journal 2: 296–98. 2. Quoted in Collet, Life, p. 281. The incident is scrutinized in Laird, Missionaries, pp. 203–205.



NOTES

NOTES

3. See the editors’ comments in Collet, Life, pp. 165–66, 242; Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 44–45; Kopf, Brahmo, p. 15; and Sugirtharajah, Bible, p. 45. 4. Sen, Biography 1: 85–113, 126–27, 136. See also Crawford, Ram Mohan, pp. 84–92. 5. This is the argument of the editors of Collet’s biography (Life, pp. 242–48); see also CRR 2: 992–1034, especially 1031–34. 6. See, for example, ChR, May 12 and November 17, 1827, pp. 74, 182. 7. ChR, May 24, June 7, October 25, and December 6, 1828, pp. 82, 91, 170, 194–95. 8. ChR, May 23, 1829, pp. 82, 83 (quotation). 9. For key examples, see ChR, April 17, 1830, p. 61; June 18 and August 13, 1831, pp. 97–98, 130; and April 19, 1834, p. 61. 10. ChR, November 1, 1834, p. 46 [sic]. 11. Roy, Final Appeal, EWG 4: 866. 12. Chundru-Shekhur Dev [Rammohun Roy], Answer of a Hindoo to the Question, “Why Do You Frequent a Unitarian Place of Worship instead of the Numerously Attended Established Churches?” (1827), EWG 1: 202–203 [EWNB 2: 194]. Chandra Shekar Deb was a follower of Rammohun; on the authority of William Adam, the tract is recognized as “entirely Rammohun’s own composition” (Collet, Life, p. 217). 13. William Adam to William J. Fox, quoted in Christian Examiner (Boston) 5 (1828): 176. For the college, see Collet, Life, p. 98 14. BH, January 2, 1828, reprinted in MR (NS) 2 (1828): 578, and ChR, May 31, 1828, p. 85. 15. Benjamin Mardon to Lant Carpenter, April 19, 1831, LCC; MR (NS) 5 (1831): 412; Preston Chronicle, May 21, 1831 (accessed through BLN, RR [#6]); Examiner, June 17, 1832 (accessed through BLN, RMR [#15]); Carpenter, Review, p. 117; Arnot, “Biographical,” p. 667; Sutherland, “Reminiscences.” 16. Anonymous letter from Liverpool, dated April 29 [1831], ChR, August 13, 1831, p. 130. 17. Joseph Tuckerman, diary, 16 August 1833, Joseph Tuckerman Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society. 18. Porter, Growth, p. 44. William Adam suggested similar things from Calcutta (Collet, Life, pp. 210–11), as did Lant Carpenter (Review, pp. 21–22, 26, 30, 107, 121–22) and North American supporters (Christian Examiner 3 [1826]: 368–89; Joseph Tuckerman, diary, 4 October 1833, Joseph Tuckerman Papers, Massachusetts Historical Society). 19. Sutherland, “Reminiscences.” 20. Carpenter, Review, p. 27 21. Hughes, Diaries 2: 135–36. 22. BH, June 20, 1832, p. 3 (quotations); June 26, 1832, p. 3; June 30, 1832, p. 3; July 4, 1832, p. 2; July 14, 1832, p. 3; and November 21, 1832, pp. 3–4 (quotation, p. 3). At one point the editor, presumably James Young, accused Rammohun of “wilful concealments” in London: July 6, 1832, p. 3. 23. Drummond, Learned, pp. 15–16; Porter, Growth, pp. 43–44; Aspland, Future, pp. 22–23. The Reverend William Scoresby was persuaded by personal interview that Rammohun was less heterodox than his reputation indicated (Scoresby, Memorial, pp. 72–73). So too was Matthew Luscombe, continental bishop of the Scottish Episcopal Church and chaplain to the Paris embassy (Christian Observer 34 [1834]: 670). Rammohun frequently attended Anglican services in Southwark: Arnot, “Biographical,” p. 667; Carpenter, Review, p. 117. 24. MR (NS) 5 (1831): 420. There was some dispute about what Rammohun actually said, since he spoke in a low tone: see MC, May 26 and 27, 1831; ChR, August 6, 1831, p. 126; James Yates to Lant Carpenter, July 23, 1831, LCC; and Derby Mercury, June 1, 1831



226

25.

26. 27.

28.

29.

30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35.

36. 37. 38.

39. 40. 41. 42. 43.

227

(accessed through BLN, RR [#7]). This led Unitarians to print an official account of his speech: Examiner, June 5, 1831 (accessed through BLN, RR [#9]). AEI 6 (1833): 443. According to Mary Carpenter who was in Bristol when he died, it was Rammohun’s brahman servants who found the sacred thread (Last, p. 137). It seems no one has explored the possibility that they placed it on him. Carpenter, Review, pp. 31–32, 82–85, 101, 121–22; Collet, Life, pp. 361–65. Arnot, “Biographical,” p. 667; AJ (NS) 12 (1833): 199, 202; Mittra, “Rammohun,” pp. 388–89; Collet, Life, pp. 243, 245–46; Sen, Biography 1: 43, 114; Ray, Religious, pp. 59–62; CRR 2: 15–16, 1032–33. See Robert M. Martin’s two obituaries (“Rajah,” p. 678, and “Rammohun,” p. 390). Martin insisted that Rammohun was no Unitarian, as did others: Jacquemont, Letters 1: 325; AEI 6 (1833): 443; and Mittra, “Rammohun,” p. 388. Killingley, Only, p. 3. According to Thomas Macaulay, James Macintosh reached similar conclusions about Rammohun’s interpretation of Hinduism and Christianity: Pinney, Letters, p. 47. Ray, Religious, pp. 20–27. Robertson, Rammohan, pp. 137, 143, 147, 170–76 (quotation, p. 137). FI, November 28, 1872, p. 1375 (accessed through BLP, RMR, [#124]). The reference to the precepts of Jesus indicates Rammohun had Unitarian Christianity in mind here. G. Pauthier, quoted in Killingley, Rammohun, pp. 148–49. CR 4 (1818): 2–3, 44–45; and MR 14 (1819): 561–69. William J. Fox used the term “unchristian Unitarians” to describe Rammohun and his followers: Course, p. 117. Fox, Discourse, p. 17. Fox was not the only Unitarian to see in Rammohun a modern Abraham: see anonymous letter from Liverpool, April 19, 1831, ChR, August 13, 1831, p. 130. Fox, Discourse, pp. 3–30 (quotations, pp. 17–18, 20). MR (NS) 6 (1832): 615. Mineka identifies Fox as the author of this segment of the article on Rammohun (Dissidence, p. 407). Fox, Course, pp. 113–18. In another lecture, Fox suggested that one day Unitarianism and Christianity would be identical and Christianity then “the religion of the world” (ibid., p. 155). Gleadle, Early, pp. 37–38, 45–46 (quotation, p. 45). This is discussed in chapter 1. Aspland Future, pp. 1–26 (quotations, pp. 12, 14, 22, 26). Roy, Second Appeal, EWG 3: 568 [EWNB 6: 2]. Fox, Discourse, p. 29; Aspland, Future, p. 36. Fox and Aspland were quoting from Sandford Arnot’s obituary, which indicated that this maxim was one of Rammohun’s favorites (Arnot, “Biographical,” p. 668).

APPENDIX B: R AMMOHUN ROY’S PRESENTATION LETTER TO THE DUKE OF SUSSEX 1. See AEI 1 (1830–1831): 557–60. The lithograph can be identified by the artist’s name (Martin). The pagination in the duke’s copy is identical with that of Alexander’s. 2. See Pettigrew, Bibliotheca, volume one, for a list of the duke’s oriental volumes. The second volume details the various editions of the Bible translated into Asian and American Indian languages that Sussex collected.



NOTES




Contemporary Publications Adam, William. “A Lecture on the Life and Labours of Ram Mohan Roy.” Reprinted in Prosanto Kumar Sen. Biography of a New Faith. Vol. 1. Calcutta: Thacker and Spink, 1950 [1838, 1879]: 395–414. [———]. Letter from the Rev. William Adam, a Baptist Missionary in India, to His Brother in Great Britain, in Defence of His Own Conversion to Unitarianism. Charleston, S.C.: Unitarian Book Society, 1826. Aikin, Lucy. Epistles on Women, Exemplifying Their Character and Condition in Various Ages and Nations (1810). Davis British Women Romantic Poets Series, I.D. No. 12. Charlotte Payne, electronic text creator. Davis: University of California, 1998: http://libweb2. ucdavis.edu/English/BWRP/WorksAikiLEpist.sgm ———. Memoir of John Aikin, M.D, With a Selection of His Miscellaneous Pieces, Biographical, Moral, and Critical. 2 vols. London: Baldwin, Cradock and Joy, 1823. ———. Memoirs of the Court of King Charles the First. 2 vols. London: Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, Green, and Longman, 1833. ———. Memoirs of the Court of King James the First. 2 vols. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1822. ———. Memoirs of the Court of Queen Elizabeth. 2 vols. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1818. Anonymous. Address to Members of Congress, on the Abolition of Slavery. (1833?). Western Reserve Historical Society Library (Cleveland, Ohio), call number E446 R174. Anonymous. “On the Life, Character, Opinions, and Cerebral Development, of Rajah Rammohun Roy.” Phrenological Journal and Miscellany 8 (December 1832–June 1834): 577–603. Anonymous. Proceedings before His Majesty’s Most Honourable Privy Council, in Relation to the Appeal, by James Silk Buckingham, Esq. against Certain Regulations of the Bengal Government on the Subject of the Press . . . London: Printed by Cox and Baylis, 1825. Anonymous. Report of the Public Meeting at Liverpool, On Wednesday, January 28, 1829 . . . Compiled for the Oriental Herald. London: W. Lewer, 1829. Anonymous. Second Memoir Respecting the Unitarian Mission in Bengal, Containing a Report of the Proceedings of the Calcutta Unitarian Committee from Its Origin in 1821 to the End of 1827. Calcutta: Printed by V. Holcroft, 1828. Arnot, Sandford. “Biographical Sketch of Rajah Rammohun Roy.” The Athenaeum: Journal of English and Foreign Literature, Science, and the Fine Arts, October 5, 1833: 666–68. ———. Sketch of the History of the Indian Press, During the Last Ten Years, with a Biographical Account of Mr. James Silk Buckingham. 2nd ed. London: William Low, 1830.



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References to figures are printed in bold. RR refers to Rammohun Roy. abjuration oath, 21, 159, 160–2, 185n82 abolitionism, see antislavery Abraham, 170, 227n35 Adam, John, 101–2, 103, 104, 105–6, 108, 109, 126 Adam, William, 117, 130, 134, 167, 168, 188n63, 226n12, 226n18 RR’s conversion of to Unitarianism, 30, 49 Adams, John, 37 Adams, William Bridges, 80, 83 Adelaide, Queen, 2 Age, The, 3, 144, 180n37, 224n62 Agency Committee, 62 Aikin, John, 15, 88, 90, 92 Aikin, Lucy, 131, 154, 205n113, 205n122, 206n139 RR and, 47, 88, 89–90, 91, 92–3, 95 rumored marriage to RR, 3, 90 Akbar, 106 Akbar II, 122, 123, 129, 148, 222n157 Alexander’s East India Magazine, 46, 122–3, 124, 125, 127, 173, 191n12, 210n68 Alfred, 106 Allen, William, 57 Amherst, William Pitt, first Earl Amherst, 101 Andover-Harvard Theological Library, 195n88 Anglicans/Anglicanism, 9, 22, 46, 132, 139, 154 RR and, 5, 168, 226n23 see also Church of England animal rights movement, see RSPCA; sati

Annin, William and George Smith, 49, 50, 51, 194n65, 194n75 Anti-Corn Law League/campaign, 5, 14, 17, 18, 55, 58 anti-sati campaign, see sati antislavery, 9, 64, 66, 67, 70, 79 anti-sati campaign and, 59–63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 70, 78, 79, 93–4 feminism and, 58–9, 62, 65–6, 79, 90, 93, 94–5 RR and, 59, 71, 93, 95 Victorian reformers and, 57–8, 70–1 Anti-Slavery Society, 59, 61 anti-Trinitarians/Trinitarianism 1813 Trinity Act and, 18, 19, 138–9, 154 in Bengal, 24, 29–30, 49, 133–8, 153, 170 in Britain, 9–12, 23, 37 in North America, 23–4, 47, 49–50 persecution of in Britain, 12, 18, 37, 132, 139, 219n65 satires by, 131–3, 134–8, 219n65 Trinity, controversies in Britain regarding, 5–6, 31, 32, 34, 45, 75 see also Unitarianism; Roy, Rammohun antivivisection movement, 70–1 Apostle John an Unitarian, The, 6 Appeal to the Christian Public, 43, 49 Appeals and RR’s fame, 45–53, 121, 155–6 Appeals and RR’s (supposed) Christianity, 43–5, 46, 49, 52, 162, 167, 171 Appeals lauded by Unitarians, 45, 49–50 Final Appeal to the Christian Public, 44–5, 50, 102, 134–5, 167, 168, 191n3, 224n36



Index

INDEX

Appeal to the Christian Public—Continued Second Appeal republished as A Treatise on Christian Doctrine, 52 Second Appeal to the Christian Public, 43–4, 45, 49–50, 134, 135, 140, 171, 189n97 Areopagitica, 99, 107 Arians/Arianism, 11, 12, 13, 14, 37–8 RR and, 45, 47, 90, 193n59 Arminians/Arminianism, 11, 14 Arnos Vale Cemetery, 225n3 Arnot, Sandford, 101, 124, 126, 142, 146–7, 209n46, 215n102 RR, extortion attempt on by, 3–4, 149, 181n48–49 RR, obituaries of by, 181n50, 221n127, 227n43 RR’s secretary, 4, 173 Ashe, Thomas, 149 “Asiatic Jesus,” 137, 138, 142 Asiatic Journal, 64, 107, 215n91, 221n127 RR’s political views and, 121–2, 146 RR’s religious views and, 46, 192n15 RR’s views on sati and, 76, 82, 89, 202n61 Aspland, Robert, 21, 80, 84, 87, 155, 219n69 blasphemy prosecutions and, 132, 138–9 Christian Reformer, editor of, 13, 133, 190n124 Jews/Jewish emancipation and, 22, 171 Monthly Repository, editor of, 13, 22, 37, 78, 131 Repeal of Test and Corporation Acts and, 20–1 RR and, 41, 45, 47, 133, 134, 142, 171, 193n38 Unitarianism of, 13–14, 33, 38–9, 52, 77 Whig leadership and, 22, 56 atman, 28 Atmiya Sabha, 27 atonement, doctrine of, 5, 10, 11, 12, 14, 32, 132 RR and, 35, 40, 43, 44, 134 Augustus Frederick, duke of Sussex, 2, 3, 21, 55–6, 173–4, 196n110, 227n1–2

Austin, Sarah, 154, 223n25 Auto-Icon, 151, 222n1 Awadh, 141, 142 Bacon, Francis, 2, 26 Baillie, Joanna, 47, 88, 90 Baines, Edward, 17 Baltimore, 37, 43, 47, 135, 143, 191 Banerji, Brajendra Nath, 148, 223n36 Baptists/Baptist missionaries, 5, 18 liberty of the press and, 100, 102 Precepts of Jesus and 5, 30–1, 34, 41, 43–4 RR and, 8, 27–8, 49, 73, 74–8, 80, 102–3, 133–8, 160, 168 sati and, 60, 61, 63–4, 67–9, 73, 74–8, 86, 161 slavery and, 61, 62 see also General Baptists; Marshman, Joshua; Ward, William Barbauld, Anna Laetitia, 88, 103 Barham Court, 4 Barnivelt, Esdras, 136 Bayley, William Butterworth, 140–1, 208n30 Bayly, C. A., 7, 25, 54, 136, 146 Bede, 5 Bedford College, 84, 90–1, 94 Bedford Square, RR’s residence on, 4, 146, 174 Belfast, 45 Belgium, 147 Belsham, Thomas, 12–13, 14, 31–2, 33, 34, 44, 45 Bengal Herald, 112, 122, 123, 124, 125, 127 Bengal Hurkaru, 122, 127, 181n43, 215n103 Benger, Elizabeth, 88, 89, 91, 92, 93, 205n113 Bennet, George, 167 Bentham, Jeremy, 27, 57, 206n149 Auto-Icon, 151, 222n1 Constitutional Code, 156 J. S. Buckingham and, 99, 104, 107, 157–9 James Young and, 105, 152, 156, 209n54



246

John Bowring and, 54, 151–2, 154–5, 159, 223–4n35–36 José del Valle and, 157 Leicester Stanhope and, 106, 107, 156 Not Paul, but Jesus, 153–4 On the Liberty of the Press, 99 panopticon prison scheme, 156–7 public opinion, theory of, 105, 107, 157–9 RR introduced to, 54, 105, 155, 156, 159 RR perceived as disciple of, 5, 54, 156–9, 165, 224n62 RR proposed by as candidate for parliament, 128, 151–2, 159–60, 161, 162, 165 RR’s religion and, 153, 155–6, 159–60 Securities against Misrule, 157–8 “Swear Not at All,” 159–60 Unitarianism and, 139, 153–5, 159, 160, 223n25 Bentinck, Lord William, 73–4, 78, 81, 120, 122, 123, 156, 204n100, 216n5 Beulah Spa, 2 Bhutan, 26 Biddle, John, 15 Birmingham, 12, 19, 20, 58, 59, 113, 154 Biswas, Dilip Kumar, 214n74, 223–4n36 Blackwell, Elizabeth, 58, 71 Blaquiere, Edward, 224n43 Blasphemy Act (1698), 12, 18 blasphemy prosecutions, 99, 103, 142, 153, 223n28 Unitarians and, 16, 18, 20, 132, 138–9 Board of Control, 7, 117, 130, 141, 222n11 RR and, 103, 118, 127, 148, 149, 152, 161, 208n39, 221n125 Bodichon, Barbara Leigh Smith, 58, 84, 90 Boleyn, Anne, 89 Bolingbroke, Lord, see St. John, Henry Bombay, 97–8, 117, 120 Bonham Carter, Hilary, 91, 92

247

Boralevi, Lea Campos, 160 Bosanquet, John, 209n48 Boston, 30, 93, 143, 144, 147, 167, 168, 203n69 locks of RR’s hair sold in, 94 portraits of RR in, 43, 49, 51, 191n11 Bourdieu, Pierre, 184n47 Bowles, William, 131 Bowring, John, 19, 20, 22, 153, 161, 206n149 Jeremy Bentham and, 54, 151–2, 154–5, 159, 223–4n35–36 RR and, 47, 54, 151–2, 155, 157, 223–4n36 Boyle, Humphrey, 103 Boyle, Mary, countess of Cork and Orrery, 2, 54 Brahmo Samaj, 122–3, 155, 167 Brahmunical Magazine, The, 134 Brief Remarks regarding Modern Encroachments on the Ancient Rights of Females, 80–1, 82, 85, 86, 89, 93 Briggs, Henry Perronet, 47, 48, 86, 182n59 Brighton, 82 Bristol, 3, 4, 58, 113, 221n129 RR, statue of in, 163–5, 225n3 RR’s death in, 227n25 RR’s visit to, 5, 47, 182n70 Unitarians in, 9, 20, 21, 85, 94, 135 Bristol Cathedral, 163–5, 223n5 Bristol City Council, 163 Bristol Evening Post, 163, 165, 225n3 Bristol Mercury, 46 British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society, 58 British and Foreign Unitarian Association, 13, 14, 52, 78, 155, 224n36 British Museum, 3, 194n86 Brougham, Henry, first baron Brougham and Vaux RR and, 4, 127, 130, 131, 181n54, 216n10 RR introduced to, 54, 130, 144, 181n54 RR’s privy council petition and, 103, 209n41, 211n86 Unitarian contacts, 19 Browning, Robert, 79 Brunel, Isambard Kingdom, 163, 165



INDEX

INDEX

Buchanan, Claudius, 89 Buckingham, James Silk authorship (mis)attributed to, 208–9n40, 209n54, 210n75, 211n79, 216n2 Calcutta Journal, editor of, 3, 76, 98, 100 cause célèbre of Whigs/Radicals, 103–5, 107, 109, 209n46 critic of East India Company, 4, 82, 103, 107, 108–9, 111–14, 119, 126 early life and career, 97–8 election to parliament, 6, 97, 111, 114, 126, 128, 161 free trade advocate, 111–15, 119, 212n21 lecture tours, 6, 111, 113–14, 121–2, 126, 212n18 liberty of the press, advocates, 98–9, 100, 101, 107–8, 123, 210n70, 211n1 Liverpool lectures, 113, 115, 212n31–33 Oriental Herald, editor of, 77, 107, 113, 210n68–69 privy council appeal of, 82, 103, 104–5, 210n76, 211n86 RR, relationship with, 4, 100, 127, 140, 216n2 RR introduced to Bentham by, 157, 158–9 RR’s anti-sati campaign publicized by, 73, 76, 77–8, 82, 108, 114, 140 RR’s Calcutta newspapers and, 99–100, 117, 123, 140 RR’s free press advocacy promoted by, 6, 97, 102, 106, 107, 108–9, 210n75, 215n102 RR’s free trade views promoted by, 6, 97, 114–15, 121, 158–9, 210n75 RR’s religious views and, 8, 45, 108, 115, 127, 135 RR’s republicanism and, 147 RR’s visit to France and, 145 Sandford Arnot and, 3–4, 101, 126, 149 suppression of Calcutta Journal and expulsion of, 3, 100–1, 107, 109, 123, 124, 157–8 trial by jury in India, advocate of, 117, 130

see also Calcutta Journal, Oriental Herald Burdett, Sir Francis, 103, 104, 107, 151, 159 Burgess, Thomas, 5 Burke, Edmund, 132 Burnouf, Eugène, 146 Burton, Antoinette, 86 Butler, Josephine, 57, 58 Buxton, Thomas Fowell, 57, 60, 62–3, 67, 69, 197n48 Byron, George Gordon Noel, sixth Baron Byron, 106, 131, 151, 152, 156 Cabell, William, 149 Calais, 146 Calcutta Chronicle, 130 Calcutta Journal, 3, 8, 98–101, 103–4, 117, 146, 207n13, 208n26 see also Buckingham, James Silk Calcutta Phrenological Society, 41, 181n55 Calcutta Unitarian Committee/community, 43, 49, 86, 138, 160, 191n127 RR and, 30, 41, 45, 134, 167–8, 188n63 Calvinists/Calvinism, 12, 14, 24, 47, 133, 154 Cambridge Journal, 17 Cambridge University, 12, 21, 56, 84 Campos Boralevi, Lea, 160 Canning, George, 60–1, 62, 101, 103, 121, 209n48 Cannon, George, 139, 149 Cape Town, 1, 146 Captain Swing, 103 Carlile, Richard, 99–100, 103, 124, 142, 159, 207n23 Unitarians and, 16–17, 138–9, 219n68 Carlisle, 113 Caroline, Queen, 99, 103, 149, 207n13 Carpenter, Lant, 4, 21, 32–3, 34, 58, 87, 146, 155 RR and, 44, 85, 86, 161, 168, 188n51, 214n74, 226n18 RR’s Christianity proclaimed by, 45, 46, 169, 192n34 Carpenter, Mary, 58, 91, 225n5



248

RR and, 180n34, 180n40, 182n70, 204n83, 206n136, 227n25 RR’s influence on, 85–7, 92, 93, 95, 165 Carr, Tagore and Company, 148 Castle, Catherine, 47, 204n83 Castlereagh, see Stewart, Robert Catholic emancipation, 21, 54, 55, 65, 66, 159 RR and, 121, 195n97 Cato Street conspiracy, 99 Cavendish, William George Spencer, sixth duke of Devonshire, 2, 104 Cecil, Robert Arthur Talbot Gascoyne-, third marquess of Salisbury, 162 celebrity heterodoxy phenomenon, see Jefferson, Thomas; Locke, John; Milton, John; Newton, Isaac; Roy, Rammohun Ceylon, 111, 116, 117, 129, 130, 216n3 Channing, William Ellery, 47, 49, 93, 144, 147, 188n54, 195n91 Charles I, 89 Charter Act (1813), 120 Charter Act (1833), 114 Chartism, 17, 58 China/China trade, 17, 111–14, 119, 124, 133, 206n139 Christian Examiner, 52 Christian Reformer, 13, 133–4, 217n31 Christian Register, 43, 49–50, 93–4, 168, 191n11, 195n91 Church Missionary Society, 46, 62, 77 Church of England, 12, 32, 138, 139–40, 153, 154 RR and, 46, 140, 143, 165 see also Anglicans/Anglicanism Cicero, 130, 131 Clarence, duke of, see William IV Clarendon Code, 19 Clark, J. C. D., 9, 183n1, 219n69 Clarkson, Thomas, 57, 60, 67, 94 Cobbett, William, 98–9, 103 Cobden, Richard, 57 Colebrooke, Henry Thomas, 81, 202n57 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 27 Colley, Linda, 57 Colls, John, 154 Colombia, 156

249

colonization, see free trade Commons, House of, 19, 62, 104, 117, 127–8, 144–5, 151–2, 158, 197n48 James Silk Buckingham and, 103, 104, 105, 114, 158 RR and, 2, 105, 115, 118, 144 RR’s proposed candidacy for, 128, 151–2, 159–62, 165 Communities for Greater Bristol, 163 Confucius, 31 Congress, United States, 3, 94 Constitutional Code, 156 constitutional reform, see parliamentary reform Contagious Disease Acts, 94 Cook, John William, 50, 52, 194–5n86 Cooke, Mary Anne, 65, 67 Cooper, Frederick, 8 Cork, countess of, see Boyle, Mary Cornwall, 97, 114 Court Journal, 46, 90 Court of Directors, see East India Company Court of Proprietors, see East India Company Coventry, 68 Coventry Society for the Abolition of Human Sacrifices in India, 68, 77 Cowley, Hannah, 88 Cox, Jeffrey, 8 Crawford, S. Cromwell, 189n97 Crawfurd, John, 117, 124 RR and, 115–16, 118, 119, 121, 130, 151, 213n69, 216n2, 222n5 Crimmins, James, 154, 223n28 Croft, George, 163, 165 Cropper, Eliza, 58 Cruikshank, George, 132, 133 Cumberland, duke of, see Ernest Augustus Dabistan-i-Mazahib, 25 Dall, Charles, 142 Daventry academy, 12 Davis, David Brion, 57, 62 Davison, Reverend D., 180n40 Davison, Thomas Rammohun Roy, 3, 180n40 Dayabhaga, 81, 202n51



INDEX

INDEX

De Doctrina Christiana, 38, 41, 52, 190n124, 195n91 Deists/Deism, 16–17, 24, 35, 138–9, 154, 170, 187n47, 188n51, 217n12 Delhi, 26, 122, 148, 149 Demerara, 61 Denman, Thomas, 82, 103–5, 109, 159, 211n86, 211n1 Dennis, John, 131 Devonshire, duke of, see Cavendish, William George Spencer D’Ghies, Hassuna, 157–8 “Dialogue between a Trinitarian Missionary and Three Chinese Converts,” 133–4, 136, 137, 138, 141, 217n30–1 Digby, John, 26, 27, 29, 129–30, 145, 187n33, 187n44 Disraeli, Benjamin, 4 Dissenters’ Chapels Act (1844), 18 Dr. Williams’s Library, 173, 195n88 Drummond, William Henry, 29, 45, 188n54, 193n38 Dublin, 29, 45, 46, 83 Duff, Alexander, 167 Dunciad, The, 136 Dyce Sombre, David Ochterlony, 162 East, Sir Edward Hyde, 6, 144, 161 East India Company, 63, 92, 97, 123, 134, 140, 156, 191n127 Court of Directors and critics of, 4, 124, 126, 208–9n40 Court of Directors and free press/free trade, 101, 112, 124, 126, 141 Court of Directors and Indian Christians, 161 Court of Directors and RR, 118, 120, 127, 148, 149 Court of Proprietors and sati, 64, 77, 197n25 Court of Proprietors as democratic body, 124 Court of Proprietors debates on Indian press, 105–6, 107, 109, 158 critics of, 17, 115, 152, 210n68 RR and, 6, 25, 26, 81, 129, 148–9, 158 RR and charter renewal of, 118–20, 123 sati and, 60, 61, 64, 73, 78, 81 see also Buckingham, James Silk

Eaton, David, 13 Ebionites, 32, 33 Edinburgh, 113 Egypt, 97 Elizabeth I, 89 Ellenborough, Lord, see Law, Edward Elphinstone, Mountstuart, 146, 221n129 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 5, 50, 194n85 Empson, William, 152 England, Church of, 12, 32, 153–4 English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, 131 Epiphanius, 33 Epistles on Women, 88–9, 90, 131, 205n110 Ernest Augustus, duke of Cumberland, 2 Essay on Criticism, An, 131 Essay on Man, An, 131, 132, 136, 217n12 Essay on the Rights of Hindoos over Ancestral Property, 81 Essex Street Chapel (London), 12, 13 Estlin, John B., 94, 135, 204n83, 206n147 Estlin, Mary, 94 Ethnological Society, 116 Eurasians, 98, 117, 118, 122, 209n54 Evangelical Magazine and Missionary Chronicle, 133 Evans, John, 38 Examiner, 115 Falmouth, 97 Female Geniad, The, 88 Female Society for Birmingham, 59 feminism RR’s analysis of sati and, 7, 71, 73, 79–84, 86–7, 89–90, 92–3, 95 sati and, 59, 65–71, 79, 86–7 slavery and, 58–9, 62, 65–6, 79, 90, 93, 94–5 Unitarians and, 47, 79, 80, 83–95 see also Aikin, Lucy; Bodichon, Barbara Leigh Smith; Carpenter, Mary; Fox, William Johnson; Martineau, Harriet; Mohl, Mary Clarke; Reid, Elizabeth Ferguson, Adam, 80 “Few Queries for the Serious Consideration of Trinitarians, A,” 133–4 Fisch, Jörg, 63, 201n26, 202n56 Fisher, Michael, 1, 148, 162, 180n31, 218n46



250

Fitzclarence, George Augustus Frederick, first earl of Munster, 2, 6, 26, 55, 196n106–7 Fitzmaurice, Henry Petty-, third marquess of Lansdowne, 2, 54–5, 83 Flower, Benjamin, 17 Flower, Eliza, 14 Fonblanque, Albany, 115 Foster, John, 5, 182n61 Fox, Charles James, 19, 20, 54, 116 Fox, Henry Richard, third baron Holland, 19, 20, 21, 22, 54, 56, 145, 185n78 Fox, William Johnson Apostle John an Unitarian, The, 6 defense of Richard Carlile, 16–17, 138 feminism of, 80, 83–4, 87 Monthly Repository edited by, 13–14, 78–9, 83–4, 87 Not Paul, but Jesus and, 154 RR and “Asiatic Jesus,” account of by, 142 RR lauded as Unitarian by, 6, 43, 50 87, 170 RR linked to feminism by, 83, 84, 87, 93, 95 RR’s fame and, 187n43 RR’s religious identity and, 170, 171, 227n34–5 as social reformer, 5 Unitarianism of, 6, 10, 14, 16–17, 20, 47, 52 France, 8, 12, 28, 68, 91–2, 145–6, 147 French orientalists and RR, 145–6 RR’s visit to, 146, 221n125 Franklin, Benjamin, 12 free press, see liberty of the press free trade, 1, 17, 22, 58, 98, 103, 111–24, 210n68, 215n91 and colonization (European settlement) in India, 111–12, 113, 114–17, 119, 123, 125–6, 127 RR touted as advocate of, 6, 97, 111, 114–16, 118–19, 121–2, 123, 127, 165 RR touted as opponent of, 119, 123, 125–6 see also Buckingham, James Silk; Crawfurd, John; Martin, Robert Montgomery

251

Freethinkers/free thinking, 14, 39, 139 French, Richard, 70 French Revolution, 9, 12, 31, 35, 106 Friend of India, 74–7, 102 Fry, Elizabeth, 65, 67 Full and True Account of a Horrid and Barbarous Revenge by Poison, A, 132 Gales, Joseph, 17 Garcin de Tassy, Joseph Héliodore, 145, 146 Garrison, William Lloyd, 94 Gaskell, Elizabeth, 91 Gay, John, 136 General Baptists, 13, 14, 38, 67, 68, 77 Gentleman’s Magazine, 46, 180n30 George I, 136 George IV, 55, 132, 149 Germany, 8, 23, 27, 92, 182n79 Ghazi, Abid U., 186n12 Gibbon, Edward, 136 Girton College, 84 Gladstone, William, 162 Glasgow/Glaswegians, 47, 113 Gleadle, Kathryn, 84, 203n78 Godwin, William, 4, 27 Goldsmid, Isaac Lyon, 22 Gordon, George James, 30, 39, 188n63, 191n127 Grant, Cary, 163, 165 Grant, Charles, 118, 119, 127, 148, 161, 215n106 Greece/Greek language, 31, 90, 92, 106, 121, 155, 156, 170 RR and, 26, 44, 138, 143 see also London Greek Committee Greg, William Rathbone, 17 Grégoire, Henri, 145, 220n118 Grey, Charles, second Earl Grey, 19, 22, 54, 103, 104, 146 Griesbach, Johann Jakob, 31–2 Grub Street, 149 Guatemala, 157 Gurney, Samuel, 58 Habermas, Jürgen, 25, 157 Hackney, 13, 133, 171 Haggis, Jane, 65



INDEX

INDEX

Haileybury College, 120 Hall, Basil, 224n43 Hall, Francis, 156, 224n43 Hampstead, 47, 88, 90 Hare, John and Joseph, 4, 146, 181n51 Harrison, Brian, 57 Hastings, Flora, marchioness of Hastings, 79–80, 202n47 Hastings, Francis Rawdon, first marquess of Hastings, 41, 79, 101, 117, 156 Indian press policy of, 98–9, 100, 105–6, 109, 141 Hay, Stephen, 187n36 Hazelwood School, 154 Hazlitt, William, 24 Henry VIII, 89 Heyrick, Elizabeth, 58, 59, 61 Heywood, Benjamin, 19 Hill, Christopher, 37 Hill, Thomas Wright, 154 Histoire morale des femmes, 91 History of British India, The, 91 History of the British Colonies, 122, 124 History of the Corruptions of Christianity, An, 36, 37 Hobhouse, Thomas, 151 Holland, Lord, see Fox, Henry Richard Hone, William, 16, 103, 132–3, 138, 159, 219n65, 219n69 Horsley, Samuel, 12 Hortensia, 88 Howard, John, 67 Howe, Miss, 3 Howitt, Mary, 94 Hull, 9, 17, 113 Hume, David, 136, 137 Hume, Joseph, 104, 107, 117, 127–8, 151 RR and, 105, 109, 128, 152 Imitations of Horace, 131 Immediate, Not Gradual Abolition, 58, 61 Impey, Edward, 209n48 Inchbald, Elizabeth, 88 Independents, 12, 14, 17, 18, 132 India Gazette, 3, 180n38, 218n38 India House, see East India Company India’s Cries to British Humanity, 67–8, 68, 76–7, 78, 82, 201n24

Ireland, 68, 99, 103, 118, 123–4, 146–7 Islam/Islamic tradition, 25–6, 28, 107, 161, 169 see also Muslims; Roy, Rammohun isvara, 28 Ivimey, Joseph, 21 Jacquemont, Victor, 145, 227n28 Jagannath festival, 77, 92, 107, 122, 123 James I, 23, 89 Jam-i-Jahan Nama, 99 Jefferson, Thomas celebrity heterodoxy phenomenon and, 5, 24, 37–8 Deism of, 24, 35 extracts from New Testament of, 34–5, 36–7, 38, 41, 188n70 globalization of Unitarianism and, 8, 24, 36 Joseph Priestley’s influence on, 36–7, 39–40, 153 RR, shared views of and, 34–5, 39–40, 162 Trinity, views of on, 35–6, 40 Unitarianism of, 35, 36–7 Jenkinson, Robert, second earl of Liverpool, 101, 109, 162 Jesuits, 23 Jewish Board of Deputies, the, 21 Jewish emancipation, 3, 10, 21–2, 55, 152, 159–60, 162, 171 Jimutavahana, 81 Johns, William, 63, 69, 199n93 Johnston, Louisa, 82, 83, 130, 203n63 Johnston, Sir Alexander, 82, 111, 116–17, 127, 216n3 RR and, 116, 129–31, 181n54, 203n63 Jordan, Dorothy, 2 jury system, see trial by jury Juvenal, 131 Kemble, Frances Anne (Fanny), 2 Kensington Palace, 55–6, 173–4 Key to the Lock, A, 136 Kiddell, Ann, 47, 204n83 Killingley, Dermot, 28, 30, 134, 136, 169–70 King, Frank, 123



252

King, Martin Luther, Jr., 165 Kinnaird, Douglas, 105, 107, 109 Krakow, 23 Ladies Committee of the British and Foreign School Society, 64–5 Lahore, 82, 83, 203n63 Lambton, John George, first earl of Durham, 104, 107 Lansbury, Coral, 71 Lansdowne, first marquess of, see Petty, William Lansdowne, third marquess of, see Fitzmaurice, Henry PettyLast Days in England of the Rajah Rammohun Roy, The, 86 Latimer, Hugh, 132 Latin language/texts, 23, 26, 38 Law, Edward, first earl of Ellenborough, 6–7, 118 Lee, John, 19 Leeds, 9, 12, 17, 31, 34, 113 Leeds Mercury, 17 Legouvé, Ernest, 91 Leicester, 20, 58 Leslie, Michael, 195n86 Levine, Philippa, 84 Lewis, Joel, 165 Liberal Party, 22, 54, 162 liberty of the press, 97–109, 111, 117, 156, 157, 158 India and, 98–109, 111, 123, 124, 126, 140, 141, 209n48, 209n54 RR’s advocacy of, 1, 54, 82, 100, 101–3, 105, 108, 122, 158 RR’s fame exploited by advocates of, 6, 97, 102, 105–6, 107, 108–9, 121, 152, 165 Unitarians and, 9, 16–17, 22, 132 see also Buckingham, James Silk Library of Useful Knowledge, 130 Lindsey, Theophilus, 12, 13, 14, 16, 19, 24, 38 Literary Fund, 4 Literary Gazette, 46, 193n59, 216n9 lithography/lithographic images, 2–3, 41, 43, 123, 173, 191n12, 227n1 Liverpool, 58, 66

253

East India Association, 113, 115, 119, 126, 212n21 lectures of J. S. Buckingham in, 113, 115, 212n31–33 newspapers, 46, 113, 212n33 Royal Institution, 19 RR’s stay in, 1, 2, 4, 5, 46, 119, 144, 151 Unitarians, 9, 19, 20, 46, 47, 115, 132, 144–5 Liverpool, second earl of, see Jenkinson, Robert Locke, John, 5–6, 9 celebrity heterodoxy phenomenon and, 37–8, 45, 53, 165, 190n124, 195n91 quoted by RR, 26, 44 Lollards, 14 London bridge, 2 London Greek Committee, 106, 155, 156 Lords, House of, 2, 54–5, 83, 103, 117–18, 144, 161, 180n21 Losh, James, 19, 168 Louis-Philippe, 146 Luddites, 103 Luther, Martin, 132 RR compared to, 5, 28, 31, 41, 76 Macaulay, Catharine, 88 Macaulay, Thomas, 2, 127, 227n29 Madame Récamier, 91–2 Madras, 98, 117 Magna Carta, 106 Majumdar, Jatindra Kumar, 148, 203n62, 214n74 Majumdar, Protap Chandra, 142 Malcolm, John, 106, 141, 209n48, 210n73 Manazarat al-Adyan, 25 Manchester, 69, 99, 113, 114 RR’s visit to, 1–2, 7, 144, 212n33 Unitarians, 9, 15, 17, 19, 20 Manchester Guardian, 17, 19, 114, 212n33 Mani, Lata, 63, 64, 68–9, 75, 80 Manusmriti (Institutes of Manu), 75, 76, 77, 78, 80, 200n16 Marcion, 32, 33 Marriage Act (1836), 22 Marshman, Joshua controversy with RR, 11, 30–1, 34, 41, 43–5, 49, 50, 134 sati and, 69, 70, 71, 74–7, 79, 200–1n16



INDEX

INDEX

Martin, Frances Keith, 83, 122, 123, 125, 203n69 Martin, Robert Montgomery, 83, 210n68, 216n2 as free trader, 112, 122–3 as imperialist/East India Company defender, 120, 123–6, 127–8, 215n89, 215n91 RR and, 112, 120, 122–3, 125–6, 128, 147, 152, 202n61 RR’s religious views and, 122–3, 188n51, 227n28 Martin, Thomas, 154, 223n25 Martineau, Harriet, 17, 58, 80, 85, 87, 88, 90, 91 RR and, 2, 46–7, 85, 87, 95, 193n52, 204n100–1 Mary, queen of Scots, 89 May, Jr., Samuel, 94 McCalman, Iain, 139, 149 Medwin, Thomas, 3, 180n41 Methodists/Methodism, 13, 14, 18, 160 Middleton, Thomas, 29, 44, 135, 140 Midgley, Clare, 58–9, 64, 65–6, 67, 68, 70, 206n139 Mill, James, 4, 91, 146, 156, 159 Mill, John Stuart, 17, 57, 78, 93, 206n149 Mill Hill Chapel, 12 Milton, John, 37, 132 Areopagitica, 99, 107 celebrity heterodoxy phenomenon and, 5, 38, 45, 47, 52–3, 190n124 De Doctrina Christiana, 38, 41, 52, 190n124, 195n91 Paradise Regained, 38 RR linked to by Unitarians, 5, 52–3, 165, 195n91 Mineka, Francis, 133 Mirat al-Akhbar, 99–100, 101–2, 108, 140–1, 146, 158 Missionary Register, 8, 27, 46, 76, 82, 182n79 Mitaksara, 81, 202n51 Modern Review, 82, 221n146, 223n36 Mohan Lal, 181n44 Mohl, Julius, 92, 205n130 Mohl, Mary Clarke, 91–3, 95, 206n139 moksa, 27

Montagu, Basil and Anna, 2 Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, 88 Montefiore, Moses, 22 Monthly Magazine/New Monthly Magazine, 15, 27, 147 Monthly Repository of Theology and General Literature, 13, 22, 37, 38, 131, 132, 154 feminist turn in, 79, 80, 83–4, 87 RR in pages of, 41, 78–9, 142 Moore, Thomas, 27 More, Hannah, 67 “More Questions to Trinitarians,” 133–4 Morning Chronicle, 55, 120, 126, 214n74, 222n5 Mukherjee, Ramratna, 4, 179n1 munshis, 26, 106 Munster, earl of, see Fitzclarence, George Augustus Frederick Murray, John, 24 Muslims, 139 British views of, 31, 106, 107, 121, 122 visitors in U. K., 1, 10, 157–8 see also Islam/Islamic tradition; Roy, Rammohun; Unitarians/Unitarianism Nandy, Ashi, 60 Naoroji, Dadabhai, 116, 162, 208n33 Naples, 144 Napoleon, 12, 68, 92, 106 RR’s admiration for, 145 Narrative of Dr. Robert Norris, 131 National Indian Association, 86 New England, 24, 37, 47 New Meeting House (Birmingham), 12 New Testament, in an Improved Version, The, 13, 31–4, 41, 44, 45 New York, 8, 49, 50, 195n91 Newcastle upon Tyne, 17 Newcome, William, 31–2, 37 Newton, Isaac, 37, 38, 190n124 RR and, 44, 45, 47, 53, 165 Nichol, Elizabeth Pease, 58, 94 Nightingale, Florence, 91, 92 Non-Con Club, 20–1, 155 North America, 89, 91, 97, 106, 112 RR’s reception in and, 8, 28, 74, 76, 93–4, 98, 129, 195n91, 226n18



254

Unitarianism in, 1, 23–4, 47–53, 143–4, 170 see also Jefferson, Thomas North American Review, 8, 28, 98 Northumberland, 114 Norton, Andrews, 49, 50 Norwich, 18, 20, 88, 154 Not Paul, but Jesus, 153–4 O’Connell, Daniel, 104, 123, 151 Old Bailey, 103 “Old Corruption,” 62, 97 Old Gravel Pit Meeting House (Hackney), 84, 155, 171 On Liberty, 17 On the Liberty of the Press, and Public Discussion, 99 Orders in Council, 17 Oriental Herald, 109, 111–14, 122, 130, 209n41, 209n54, 210n68 RR’s work publicized in, 77, 82, 108–9, 114, 117, 158 see also Buckingham, James Silk Ottoman Empire, 99 Owen, Robert, 4, 5 Oxford University, 21, 56, 160 Paget, Nathan, 37 Paine, Thomas, 15, 16 Palmer, John, 97–8 panchayats, 117 Pankhurst, Emmeline, 58 Paradise Regained, 38 Paradise Street Chapel (Liverpool), 46 Paris, 5, 91, 92, 145, 146, 226n23 Parkes, Elizabeth (Bessie) Rayner, 84, 154 Parkes, Joseph, 154, 206n149, 223n25 Parliamentary Candidate Society (PCS), 151–2, 153, 159 parliamentary reform, 6, 54, 55, 57–8, 65, 103, 111, 153, 162 reform bills, 2, 6, 90, 127, 144–5, 151, 161 RR and, 1, 2, 119, 180n21 RR’s zeal for, 54, 90, 144–5, 147, 165, 180n37 Unitarians and, 17, 19–20, 22 see also Reform Act (1832)

255

parody, see satire pasha of Tripoli, 157–8 Patna, 25 Paul, the Apostle, 12, 153–4, 168 Peace Society, 58, 155 Peale, Rembrandt, 50, 52, 53, 195n87 Pease, Elizabeth, see Nichol, Elizabeth Pease Pease, Joseph, 58 Peel, Robert, 159 Peggs, James, 60, 70, 199n93, 201n24 appeal to women against sati and, 67–9, 71, 79, 84, 114, 199n95 RR’s fame and, 73, 76–9, 82 Pennsylvania, 36, 39, 145 Periodical Accounts Relative to the Baptist Missionary Society, 27 Perkins, Erasmus, 139 Peter the Great, 47 “Peterloo,” 99, 139 Petty, William, second earl of Shelburne and first marquess of Lansdowne, 12, 19, 54, 55 Philips, George, 19 phrenology, 4, 181n55 Pitt, William, 13, 20 Place, Francis, 151, 206n149 Plato, 47 Political, Commercial, & Financial Condition of the Anglo-Eastern Empire, in 1832, The, 124–6 Political House that Jack Built, The, 132 Poor Laws, 17, 19 Pope, Alexander, 131–2, 135–7, 165, 217n12 Porter, J. Scott, 45 Portugal, 54, 144, 147, 156 Potter, Richard, 19 Poynder, John, 77, 201n26–7 Pradhan, Niranjan, 163, 164 Precepts of Jesus, The controversy, 5, 30–1, 41, 43–5, 73, 74, 77, 79, 189n95, 190n97, 191n128 “Jefferson Bible” and, 34–5, 39–40 portraits of RR as frontispieces to, 41, 42, 49, 50, 51, 52, 191n3 reception of in U. K., 31, 34, 41, 45–6, 47, 56, 155, 168, 173 reception of in U. S., 49–50, 167



INDEX

INDEX

Precepts of Jesus, The—Continued RR’s fame and, 41, 45–6, 49–50 RR’s Unitarianism and, 29, 30–1, 80, 155, 162, 168, 169, 227n32 Prentice, Archibald, 17 Presbyterians/Presbyterianism, 14–15, 17, 18, 19 Price, Richard, 9, 12, 13, 19 Prichard, James Cowles, 3, 4, 181–2n58 Priestley, Elizabeth, 154 Priestley, Joseph, 24, 84, 154, 184n34 political views and influence of, 12, 19–20, 55, 145 publications of, 13, 30, 31, 36 Thomas Jefferson, influence of on, 36–7, 39, 40, 153 Unitarian views of, 9, 12, 15–16, 33, 36, 43 Protestant Dissenting Deputies (PDD), 18–19, 20, 21 Prussia, 23, 106 Quakers, 9, 21, 57, 58, 93, 160, 183n4 Quarterly Review, 32 Queen’s Matrimonial Ladder, The, 132 “Questions to Trinitarians,” 133–4 Racovian Catechism, The, 23, 45 Ram Doss, see Roy, Rammohun Ramayana, 130 Rape of the Lock, The, 136 Rarhi kulin brahmans, 25 Rathbone, Eleanor, 58 Rathbone, William, 144–5 Rational Dissent, see Unitarianism Ray, Ajit Kumar, 169 Récamier, Juliette, 91 Red Sea, 97 Reed, David, 49–50, 93–4, 143, 167–8, 194n85 Rees, Thomas, 192n31 Reform Act (1832), 9, 11, 19, 114, 144–5, 147, 161, 196n107, 216n114 reform bills, 2, 6, 90, 127, 144–5, 151, 161 Reformer, 127 Reid, Elizabeth, 47, 84, 90–1, 92, 93, 94, 95, 205n121

Repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts (1828), 21 Republican, 99, 207–8n23 republicanism, 143, 147–8, 156, 157, 158, 159, 165, 221n134 Researches into the Physical History of Man, 3 Revue Encyclopédique, 8 Ricardo, David, 22 Rickards, Robert, 120–1, 124, 126 Rights of Man, 16 Roberts, [Brown?], 148, 222n148 Roberts, Mitchell and Company, 148 Robertson, Bruce Carlisle, 74, 169, 186n12, 217–18n35, 218n46 Robinson, Henry Crabb, 6, 47, 55–6, 205n122 Rocher, Ludo, 202n51–2 Rockingham, marquess of, see Wentworth, Charles WatsonRomans, 44, 138, 142, 143, 170 see also Latin language/texts Roscoe, William, 19, 47, 54, 131, 144, 181n54 Rosen, Frederick, 106, 222n1, 224n44 Roy, Rajaram, 1, 3, 180n40 Roy, Rammohun abjuration oath and, 159, 160–2 Alexander Pope and, 131, 135–7, 165 Anglicans/Anglicanism and, 5, 168, 226n23 antislavery and, 59, 71, 93, 95 Arabic skills/writings of, 25, 26, 130 Arians/Arianism and, 45, 47, 90, 193n59 “Asiatic Jesus” and, 137, 138, 142 Asiatic Journal and, 46, 76, 82, 89, 121–2, 146, 192n15, 202n61 atonement, doctrine of and, 35, 40, 43, 44, 134 attends privy council sessions, 55, 83, 195n103 Baptist missionaries and, 8, 27, 73, 74–8, 80, 102–3, 133–8, 218n35 Baptist missionaries and Precepts of Jesus, 5, 30–1, 34 Beulah Spa (Norwood) and, 2 biography (planned) of Muhammad, 129, 216n1



256

Board of Control and, 103, 118, 127, 148, 149, 152, 161, 208n39, 221n125 Calcutta Unitarian Committee and, 30, 41, 45, 134, 167–8, 188n63 candidacy (proposed) for parliament of, 56, 128, 151–2, 159–62, 165 Catholic emancipation and, 121, 195n97 celebrity heterodoxy phenomenon and, 5, 24, 45–7, 50, 52–4, 194n85 Charles Grant and, 118, 127, 148, 161, 215n106 Charles Williams Wynn and RR’s eligibility for parliament, 152, 160, 161, 162 Church of England and, 46, 140, 143, 165 constitutional liberalism and, 54, 144, 147 controversies with orthodox Hindus, 27, 73–4, 75, 79, 83 conversion (supposed) to Christianity of, 5, 10–11, 22, 28–9, 41, 43–49, 160–2, 167–71 David Hume referred to by, 136, 137 David Reed and, 9–50, 93–4, 143, 167–8, 194n85 Deism and, 28, 29, 30, 169, 187n47, 188n51 Deocar Schmid and, 27, 29, 31, 34, 182n79, 187n36, 187n43 “Dialogue between a Trinitarian Missionary and Three Chinese Converts” and, 133–4, 136, 137, 138, 141, 217n30–1 disappoints Radicals in Britain, 127, 147, 168 duke of Sussex and, 2, 3, 55–6, 173–4, 227n1 Edward Gibbon referred to by, 136 extortion attempt on, 3–4, 149, 181n48–9 fame of exploited by free press advocates, 6, 97, 102, 105–6, 107, 108–9, 121, 152, 165 family of, 25, 161 feminism and analysis of sati by, 7, 71, 73, 79–84, 86–7, 89–90, 92–3, 95

257 “A Few Queries for the Serious Consideration of Trinitarians” and, 133–4 France/French orientalists and, 8, 28, 145–6, 147, 221n125 George Fitzclarence and, 2, 6, 26, 55, 196n106 George James Gordon and, 30, 39, 188n63, 191n127 Germany and, 8, 27, 182n79 gossip regarding women and, 3, 90, 181n43 Greece/Greek language and, 26, 44, 138, 143 Harriet Martineau and, 2, 46–7, 85, 87, 95, 193n52, 204n100–101 as Hindu reformer, 26–7, 28 inheritance law in Bengal and, 81–2 Ireland and, 99, 118, 146–7 Isaac Newton and, 44, 45, 47, 53, 165 Islamic influences on, 25–6, 28, 138, 167, 169, 170, 188n51 James Peggs and fame of, 73, 76–9, 82 James Young and, 105–6, 109, 157, 209n54, 215n103, 226n22 Jared Sparks and, 43, 52, 135, 191n5, 191n11, 220n100 Jewish emancipation and, 3, 152, 159–60, 162 John Bowring and, 47, 54, 151–2, 155, 157, 223–4n36 John Crawfurd and, 115–16, 118, 119, 121, 130, 151, 213n69, 216n2, 222n5 John Digby and, 26, 27, 29, 129–30, 145, 187n33, 187n44 John Locke quoted by, 26, 44 John Milton linked to by Unitarians, 5, 52–3, 165, 195n91 John Poynder and, 77, 201n27 José del Valle and, 157 Joseph Hume and, 105, 109, 128, 152 Joseph Tuckerman and, 50, 143–4, 181n43, 182n60, 182n70, 216n1 Joshua Marshman and, 11, 30–1, 34, 41, 43–5, 49, 50, 134 Kensington Palace and, 56, 173–4 Leicester Stanhope and, 103, 106–7, 108, 156, 157, 208n39, 210n76, 215n102



INDEX

INDEX

Roy, Rammohun—Continued liberty of the press advocated by, 1, 54, 82, 100, 101–3, 105, 108, 122, 158 Liverpool stay of, 1, 2, 4, 5, 46, 119, 144, 151 locks of hair of, 94, 95, 206n147 lost manuscripts of, 25, 181n47, 202n61 Louis-Philippe and, 146 Lucy Aikin and, 3, 47, 88, 89–90, 91, 92–3, 95 Luther, RR compared to, 5, 28, 31, 41, 76 Manchester visit, 1–2, 7, 144, 212n33 Manusmriti and, 75, 76, 78 marquess of Lansdowne and, 2, 54–5, 83 memorial to the Supreme Court and, 101–2, 105, 108, 109, 117, 158, 159, 210n75, 215n102 Mirat al-Akhbar and, 99–100, 101–2, 108, 140–1, 146, 158 missionaries and, 8, 25, 27–8, 29, 30–1, 44, 77, 142, 167 “More Questions to Trinitarians” and, 133–4 Muslims and, 3, 102, 103, 117–18, 120 Napoleon, RR’s admiration for, 145 North American Unitarians and, 5, 47–53, 74, 93–4, 129, 143–4, 170, 195n91, 226n18 North Americans and RR’s Vedanta, 8, 28, 74, 76, 98, 129 parliament, attends sessions of, 2, 144, 180n21 parliament, written testimony of for, 115–16, 118, 127 parliamentary reform and, 1, 2, 119, 180n21 parliamentary reform, zeal of for, 54, 90, 144–5, 147, 165, 180n37 Persian influences on/writings by, 25–6, 28, 99, 101, 123, 131, 141, 169, 171 phrenology and, 4, 41, 181n55 portrait (engraved) of by P. Savignhac, frontispiece, 2, 41, 43, 49, 145, 191n11–12 portrait of by H. P. Briggs, 47, 48, 86, 163, 182n59

portrait of by J. W. Cook, 50, 52, 180n36, 194–5n86 portrait of by R. Peale, 50, 52, 53, 195n87 privy council petition regarding Bengal press regulations and, 101, 102–3, 107, 108, 109, 126, 158, 159, 210n76, 215n102 privy council petitions regarding sati and, 54–5, 74, 82, 83 pseudonyms, use of by, 73, 75, 134–8, 142, 200n2, 207n80, 217–18n35, 218n46, 226n12 “Questions to Trinitarians” and, 133–4 Ram Doss, pseudonym of, 3–4, 134–8, 140, 142, 165, 219n90 religious universalism of, 28, 144, 160, 167, 169, 171 republican views of, 143, 147–8, 221n134 Robert Aspland and, 41, 45, 47, 133, 134, 142, 171, 193n38 Robert Rickards and, 121, 126 Robert Tytler, controversy between RR and, 134–5, 137, 138, 142, 219n90 Romans/Latin language and, 26, 29, 44, 138, 142, 143 Royal Asiatic Society and, 56, 130, 222n11 royal family and, 2, 55–6, 179n12 Sakta Tantric influence on, 25, 200n2 Samvada Kaumudi and, 73, 99–100, 105, 112, 117, 123, 130, 158 sati, RR’s appeal to British women against, 79–80, 82, 83, 84 sati, RR’s fame and campaign against, 59, 71, 73–83, 85–6, 89–91, 92–6 satire, RR lampooned in, 3, 121–2, 136, 160, 216n10, 224n62 satire, use of by, 131, 133–8, 142, 150, 165 Scottish friends of, 7, 27, 29, 30, 39, 135, 191n127 Sir Alexander Johnston and, 116, 129–31, 181n54, 203n63 social gospel of, 1, 26–7, 131, 169 Socinian, RR labeled as, 29, 167, 192n15



258

Thomas Jefferson, shared views of and, 34–5, 39–40, 162 Times and, 2, 3, 115, 119, 147, 181n48–49, 222n147 trial by jury and, 99, 115, 116, 117–18, 127, 129–30, 148 Trinity, RR as perceived umpire on, 5, 11, 31, 34, 41, 45–6, 47, 50, 193n38 Trinity, RR uses Ram Doss pseudonym to criticize, 3–4, 134–8, 142, 165 Trinity, RR uses to provincialize England, 139–41, 142–3 Trinity, RR’s views on, 5, 11, 24–5, 29–31, 35, 39–40, 43–5, 85, 133–8 Unitarian influences on, 24–5, 28–30, 43–5, 80, 133–8, 141–2, 149–50, 161–2, 169–70 Unitarian missions and, 8, 49, 86 U. K. portraits of based on Savignhac’s engraving, 2–3, 41, 42, 123, 180n30, 180n34, 191n3, 191n12 U. S. portrait of based on Savignhac’s engraving, 49, 50, 51 Vedanta and, 3, 35, 131, 134, 161, 167–8, 169, 170 Vedanta and fame of, 5, 7, 8, 27–8, 29, 49, 145, 146, 170 Vedanta works of, 8, 26–8, 30, 56, 83, 92, 130, 170, 173 Voltaire referred to by, 136, 137 Whig ideas espoused by, 6, 54, 136, 145, 195n97 Whig leadership and, 2, 6, 54, 56, 120, 127, 144, 216n10 Whig ministry, RR’s disillusionment with, 146 William Adam and, 30, 49, 130, 134, 167, 168, 188n63, 226n12, 226n18 William Bentinck and, 73–4, 78, 81, 120, 123, 156–7 William Ellery Channing and, 144, 147, 195n91 William Roscoe and, 47, 54, 144, 181n54 William Smith and, 54, 90, 195n95, 205n120 see also Appeal to the Christian Public; Arnot, Sandford; Bentham, Jeremy; Bristol; Brougham, Henry;

259

Buckingham, James Silk; Carpenter, Lant and Mary; East India Company; Fox, William Johnson; free trade; Martin, Robert Montgomery; Precepts of Jesus; sati Royal Academy, 47, 193n56 Royal Asiatic Society, 55, 56, 130, 222n11 Royal Manchester Institution, 19 Royal Society, 55 Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (RSPCA), 57, 69–70 Rush, Benjamin, 36, 37, 38 Russell, Lord John, 20, 21, 104 Rutt, John Towill, 82, 190n124, 195n103 Sa’di, 131, 171 St. James’s Park, 151 St. John, Henry, first Viscount Bolingbroke, 35 Salisbury, 68 Salisbury, Lord, see Cecil, Robert Arthur Talbot GascoyneSalters’ Hall conference, 14 Samachara Chandrika, 99 samsara, 26 Samvada Kaumudi, 73, 99–100, 105, 112, 117, 123, 130, 158 sanatana dharma, 7 Sankara, 26 sannyasins, 26, 27 Sanskrit, 25, 77, 92, 130 Sappho, 88 Sarma, Sivaprasad, 134, 217–18n35 sati animal rights movement and, 69–71 appeal to women by campaigners against, 62, 64–9, 70, 71, 79, 86 appeal to women by RR against, 79–80, 82, 83, 84 feminism and, 59, 65–71, 79, 86–7 feminism and RR’s analysis of, 7, 71, 73, 79–84, 86, 87, 89–90, 92–3, 95 inheritance law and, 81–2 Joshua Marshman and, 69, 70, 71, 74–7, 79, 200–1n16 missionaries and, 60, 61, 62–9, 73, 74–8, 84, 86, 161



INDEX

INDEX

sati—Continued privy council appeal regarding abolition of, 55, 74, 83 RR’s fame and campaign against, 59, 71, 73–83, 85–6, 89–91, 92–6 slavery and campaign against, 59–63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 70, 78, 79, 93–4 vivisection and, 70–1 William Ward and, 63, 66–7, 68, 71, 76, 80, 91 see also Buckingham, James Silk; East India Company; Peggs, James satire, 103, 131–8, 149, 219n65 RR lampooned in, 3, 121–2, 136, 160, 216n10, 224n62 RR’s use of, 131, 133–8, 142, 150, 165 Satirist, 46, 179n12 Savignhac, Philippe, frontispiece, 2, 41, 43, 49, 145, 191n6, 191n11–12 Say, Jean-Baptiste, 206n149 Schmid, Deocar, 27, 29, 31, 34, 182n79, 187n36, 187n43 Scoresby, William, 5, 189n81, 226n23 Scott, Mary, 88 Scriblerus Club, 136 Second Conference between an Advocate for and an Opponent of the Practice of Burning Widows Alive, A, 79–80, 81, 85, 86, 87, 90, 202n47, 205n134 Securities against Misrule, 157–8 Seed, John, 10, 16,184n47 Sen, Keshub Chandra, 142 Sen, Prosanto Kumar, 189n95 Serampore, 63, 67, 73, 74, 76, 77, 100, 189n95 Sheffield, 114, 126, 161 newspapers, 17, 113–14 Sheffield Female Anti-Slavery Society, 59 Shelburne, earl of, see Petty, William Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 3, 27, 180n41 Sherwin’s Weekly Political Register, 100, 207–8n23 Shore, Frederick John, 3, 180n38 Sismondi, J. C. L. de, 108 Six Acts, 99, 101, 103, 104, 107–8, 109, 111 Six Months in India, 86 Sketch of the History and Influence of the Press in British India, 106

Smith, Benjamin, 90, 205n120 Smith, Gamaliel, 153–4 Smith, Julia, 90 Smith, William, 18–19, 20–21, 56, 58, 84, 139, 154 RR and, 54, 90, 195n95, 205n120 Sober Appeal to a Turk or an Indian, A, 34 Société Asiatique, 145, 146 Society for the Diffusion of Information on the Subject of Capital Punishment, 57 Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, see RSPCA Society for Propagation of Female Education in the East, 65 Socinians/Socinianism, 11, 12, 14, 20, 21, 23, 37, 45, 154 RR labeled as, 29, 167, 192n15 Socinus, Faustus, 23, 186n1 Socrates, 36, 47 Socrates and Jesus Compared, 36 Solly, Henry, 16 Some Remarks in Vindication of the Resolution Passed by the Government of Bengal in 1829 Abolishing the Practice of Female Sacrifices in India, 82, 83 South Place Chapel (London), 170 Southeast Asia, 97, 115, 213n69, 216n2 Southern, Henry, 154, 223n31 Southwark Ladies’ Association, 64 Spain/Spanish colonies, 124, 144, 153, 157 Spankie, Robert, 82, 104, 209n48 Sparks, Jared, 37, 38, 49 RR and, 43, 52, 135, 191n5, 191n11, 220n100 Spenceans, 10, 15 Spurzheim, Johann Gaspar, 4 Stamford bull running, 70 Stanhope, Leicester, fifth earl of Harrington, 123, 224n43–4 RR and, 103, 106–7, 108, 156, 157, 208n39, 210n76, 215n102 Stanton, Elizabeth Cady, 94 Stewart, Robert, Viscount Castlereagh, 132 Stoler, Ann Laura, 8 Strachey, J., 221n129 Sturge, Joseph, 58, 62 Sudbury, 20



260

Sugirtharajah, R. S., 24, 35, 188n48, 188n70 Sussex, duke of, see Augustus Frederick Sutherland, James, 1, 2, 120, 146, 147, 179n6, 181n55, 191n12 Suttees’ Cry to Britain, The, 67, 68, 76, 77, 201n24 “Swear Not at All,” 159–60 Swift, Jonathan, 136 Tagore, Dwarkanath, 30, 98, 122, 123, 127, 148, 162, 188n63 free trade/colonization and, 112, 125, 215n97 Tagore, Prasanna Kumar, 123, 127, 128, 152 Tarkavagish, Kashinath, 73, 75–6, 78, 79, 80 Taylor, Edgar, 18–19, 20, 22 Taylor, Richard, 214n74 Temperley, Howard, 58 Tertullian, 33 Test Act Recorder, 21 Test and Corporation Acts, 14, 18, 19, 20, 54, 55, 56, 155, 159 Theological Repository, 13 Thompson, George, 58 Times, 2, 3, 63, 66–7, 115, 119, 147, 181n48–9, 222n147 Toleration Act (1689), 12, 18, 19 Tomkins, Martin, 34, 47, 50, 193n38 Tories, 6–7, 101, 103, 111, 122, 124, 132, 136, 144, 162 Torrens, Robert, 158 Translation of a Conference between an Advocate for, and an Opponent of, the Practice of Burning Widows Alive, 74–5, 76, 77, 78 Translation of an Abridgement of the Vedant, 8, 27, 173 Translation of Several Principal Books, Passages, and Texts of the Veds, and of Some Controversial Works on Brahmunical Theology, 82, 84, 173 transubstantiation, 44, 133 Treatise on Christian Doctrine, A (Second Appeal to the Christian Public), 52 trial by jury, 116–18, 121

261

RR supports for India, 99, 115, 116, 117–18, 127, 129–30, 148 Trinity, see anti-Trinitarians/Trinitarianism; Jefferson, Thomas; Roy, Rammohun Trinity Act (1813), 18, 19, 138–9, 154 Tripoli, 156, 157–8, 159 Tuckerman, Joseph, 50, 85–6, 143–4, 181n43, 182n60, 182n70, 216n1 Tuhfat al-Muwahhidin, 25, 26, 123, 131, 169 “Turkish harems,” 80, 83, 89 Tusculan Disputations, 130 Twickenham, 131 Tyerman, Daniel, 167 Tytler, Robert, 134–5, 137, 138, 142, 219n90 Uncle Tom’s Cabin, 58 Unitarian Association, 20, 21, 22, 155 Unitarian (Book) Society, 13–14, 31, 42, 43, 45, 49, 191n3 Unitarian Fund, 13, 14, 15 Unitarians/Unitarianism Alexander Pope and, 131–2, 137 alliance with Whigs, 6, 11, 19–20, 22, 54, 56 antislavery and, 90, 93–4 in Bengal, 5, 24, 29–30, 39, 133–5, 138, 160 blasphemy prosecutions and, 16–17, 18, 20, 132, 138–9 Calcutta Unitarian Committee and RR, 30, 41, 45, 134, 167–8, 188n63 Calcutta Unitarian Committee/ community, 43, 49, 86, 138, 160, 191n127 defining features of, 10, 11, 13, 14, 32, 39–40, 45, 170 feminism and, 47, 79, 80, 83–95 free press/free trade and, 9, 16–17, 22 Jews/Jewish emancipation and, 10,14, 21–2, 33, 39, 159, 168, 170–1 missions and, 8, 13, 17, 41, 49, 85, 133, 137, 188n63 Muslims and, 10, 39, 170 North American, 1, 23–4, 47–53, 93–4, 143–4, 170, 195n91, 226n18 parodies and satires of, 131–4, 137, 138, 142, 149–50



INDEX

INDEX

Unitarians/Unitarianism—Continued political and cultural influence of, 6, 9, 11, 15–22, 53–4, 56 Presbyterian origins of, 14–15, 17, 18, 19 Rational Dissent, as synonymous with, 11, 183n17 social classes and, 7, 9, 11, 13, 14–16, 17, 22, 133 social gospel of, 15–16, 131, 169 Socinianism and, 12, 14, 23, 29 see also individual Unitarians; Appeal to the Christian Public; Jefferson, Thomas; Precepts of Jesus; Roy, Rammohun United Committee, 20–1 Universalists/Universalism, 13, 24 Universalist’s Miscellany/Universal Theological Magazine, 13 Valle, José del, 157 Varanasi, 25 Vedanta, see Roy, Rammohun Vedanta College, 168 Vedas, 26, 28, 29, 55, 168, 169, 173–4 Victoria, 86, 163 Vidler, William, 13 Vidyalankar, Mrityunjay, 74–5, 200–1n16 View of the History, Literature, and Religion of the Hindoos, A, 63, 198n53 Vijnanesvara, 81, 202n51 Vindication of the Incarnation of the Deity, A, 134–8, 142, 218n41, 219n90 Virginia, 35 Visram, Rozina, 1, 180n38 Vivekananda, 142 Voltaire, 133, 136, 137 Wakefield, Gilbert, 131, 217n15 Wakefield, West Yorkshire, 9, 17 Wales, 9, 18 Walter, John, 148–9 Walvin, James, 62 Ward, William, 63, 66–7, 68, 71, 76, 79, 80, 91, 198n53 Ware, Henry, 143, 144 Warrington academy, 12, 15, 88 Watts, Isaac, 34, 45, 47, 193n38

Wedderburn, Robert, 15, 16, 138–9 Wellesley, Richard, Marquess Wellesley, 98, 111 Wentworth, Charles Watson-, second marquess of Rockingham, 19, 22 Wesley, John, 13, 83 Wesley, Mehetabel, 83 Westminster Review, 105, 154, 155, 156, 209n50, 209n54 Whately, Richard, 130, 131 Whigs, 55, 103, 111, 118–19 alliance with Unitarians, 6, 11, 19–20, 22, 54, 56 liberty of the press and, 101, 104, 106, 107, 109 RR and leadership of, 2, 6, 54, 106, 107, 109, 127, 216n10 see also Brougham, Henry; Denman, Thomas; Grant, Charles Whitbread, Samuel, 145 Whitby, 113, 114 Whitefield, George, 13 Wilberforce, William, 4, 14, 57, 60, 66, 69–70, 147 William III, 21 William IV, 2, 55, 216n114 Williams Wynn, Charles Watkin, 117–18, 130, 141, 208n39 RR’s eligibility for parliament and, 152, 160, 161, 162 Wilson, Horace Hayman, 4, 55, 149 Wollstonecraft, Mary, 80 Wolverhampton Chapel case, 132 Wood, G. W., 19 Wood, Marcus, 132 Woodford, Mrs., 82, 83, 84, 204n83 Wooler, Thomas Jonathan, 159 World Anti-Slavery Convention (1840), 94 Wright, John, 132 Wright, Richard, 13, 15 Wykes, David, 173 Yates, James, 214n74 Yorkshire Association, 19 Young, James, 152, 156–7, 211n79, 224n43 RR and, 105–6, 109, 157, 209n54, 215n103, 226n22



262

Rammohun Roy and the Making of Victorian Britain (Palgrave Studies in Cultural and Intellectual History)

The Shelley-Byron Circle and the Idea of Europe (Palgrave Studies in Cultural and Intellectual History)

Benjamin Constant and the Birth of French Liberalism (Palgrave Studies in Cultural and Intellectual History)

Culture and Hegemony in the Colonial Middle East (Palgrave Studies in Cultural and Intellectual History)

Palgrave Advances in Intellectual History

History and cultural memory in neo-Victorian fiction: Victorian afterimages

The Gospel of Beauty in the Progressive Era: Reforming American Verse and Values (Palgrave Studies in Cultural and Intellectual History)

The American Bourgeoisie: Distinction and Identity in the Nineteenth Century (Palgrave Studies in Cultural and Intellectual History)

Law and Politics in British Colonial Thought: Transpositions of Empire (Palgrave Studies in Cultural and Intellectual History)

Recovering Bishop Berkeley: Virtue and Society in the Anglo-Irish Context (Palgrave Studies in Cultural and Intellectual History)

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