Born at Hull, 24th August 1759, the son of a wealthy merchant. Educated at Wimbledon, Pocklington, and St. John’s College, Cambridge, in 1780 he was returned for Hull, in 1784 for Yorkshire, and was a close friend of Pitt, though he remained independent of party. In 1784–85, during a tour on the Continent with Dean Milner, he became seriously impressed; and in 1787 he founded an association for the reformation of manners. In 1788, supported by Clarkson and the Quakers, he entered on his nineteen years’ struggle for the abolition of the slave-trade, crowned with victory in 1807. He next sought to secure the abolition of the slave-trade abroad and the total abolition of slavery itself; but declining health compelled him in 1825 to retire from parliament. Long a central figure in the “Clapham sect” of Evangelicals, he died 29th of July 1833, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. He wrote a “Practical View of Christianity” (1797), helped to found the Christian Observer (1801), and promoted many schemes for the welfare of the community. See the Life by his sons (1838), and his “Private Papers,” edited by Mrs. A. M. Wilberforce (1898).

Personal

  My Dear Sir—Unless Divine Power has raised you up to be as Athanasius contra mundum, I see not how you can go through your glorious enterprise, in opposing that execrable villainy which is the scandal of religion, of England, and of human nature. Unless God has raised you up for this very thing, you will be worn out by the opposition of men and devils; and if God be for you, who can be against you? Are all of them together stronger than God? Oh! be not weary of well-doing. Go on in the name of God, and in the power of his might, till even American slavery, “The Vilest Thing That Ever Saw The Sun,” shall vanish away before it. That He who has guided you from your youth up may continue to strengthen you in this and all things, is the prayer of, dear sir, your affectionate servant.

  He is the very model of a reformer. Ardent without turbulence, mild without timidity or coldness, neither yielding to difficulties, nor disturbed or exasperated by them; patient and meek, yet intrepid: persisting for twenty years through good report and evil report; just and charitable even to his most malignant enemies; unwearied in every experiment to disarm the prejudices of his more rational and disinterested opponents, and supporting the zeal without dangerously exciting the passion of his adherents.

  The fashionable part of my life in London was so laboriously dull in itself that I will not describe it…. But there was one place where I went several times, which was so unlike the others that it should not be mentioned with them,—I mean Mr. Wilberforce’s. He lives at Kensington…. Everything in his house seemed to speak of quiet and peace…. He is about sixty years old, small, and altogether an ordinary man in his personal appearance. His voice has a whine in it, and his conversation is broken and desultory. In general, he talks most and is mest attentive to those who talk most to him,… for his benevolence has so long been his governing principle, that he lends his ear mechanically to all who address him. Yet now and then he starts a subject of conversation, and pursues it with earnestness, quotes Horace and Virgil, and almost rattles with a gay good-humor and vivacity, which strongly and uniformly mark his character. But, in general, he leaves himself much in the hands of those about him, or, if he attempts to direct the conversation, it is only by making inquiries to gratify his curiosity.

  He acts from mixed motives. He would willingly serve two masters, God and Mammon. He is a person of many excellent and admirable qualifications, but he has made a mistake in wishing to reconcile those that are incompatible. He has a most winning eloquence, specious, persuasive, familiar, silver-tongued, is amiable, charitable, conscientious, pious, loyal, humane, tractable to power, accessible to popularity, honouring the king, and no less charmed with the homage of his fellow-citizens. “What lacks he then?” Nothing but an economy of good parts. By aiming at too much, he has spoiled all, and neutralised what might have been an estimable character, distinguished by signal services to mankind…. We can readily believe that Mr. Wilberforce’s first object and principle of action is to do what he thinks right: his next (and that we fear is of almost equal weight with the first) is to do what will be thought so by other people. He is always at a game of hawk and buzzard between these two: his “conscience will not budge,” unless the world goes with it…. Mr. Wilberforce has the pride of being familiar with the great; the vanity of being popular, the conceit of an approving conscience. He is coy in his approaches to power: his public spirit is, in a manner, under the rose. He thus reaps the credit of independence, without the obloquy; and secures the advantages of servility, without incurring any obligations. He has two strings to his bow:—he by no means neglects his worldly interests, while he expects a bright reversion in the skies. Mr. Wilberforce is far from being a hypocrite; but he is, we think, as fine a specimen of moral equivocation as can well be conceived.

  Wilberforce kept his faculties, and (except when he was actually in fits), his spirits, to the very last. He was cheerful and full of anecdote only last Saturday. He owned that he enjoyed life much, and that he had a great desire to live longer. Strange in a man who had, I should have said, so little to attach him to this world, and so firm a belief in another: in a man with an impaired fortune, a weak spine, and a worn-out stomach!

  His Christianity was of the most amiable and attractive character—his temper was cheerful even to playfulness—his pleasantry, though measured, was copious—and his wit, though chastened, ready and enlivening.

  Few persons have ever either reached a higher and more enviable place in the esteem of their fellow-creatures, or have better deserved the place they had gained, than William Wilberforce…. His nature was mild and amiable beyond that of most men; fearful of giving the least pain, in any quarter, even while heated with the zeal of controversy on questions that roused all his passions; and more anxious, if it were possible, to gain over rather than to overpower an adversary—to disarm him by kindness, or the force of reason, or awakening appeals to his feelings, rather than defeat him by hostile attack…. His eloquence was of a very high order. It was persuasive and pathetic in an eminent degree; but it was occasionally bold and impassioned, animated with the inspiration which deep feeling alone can breathe into spoken thought, chastened by pure taste, varied by extensive information, enriched by classical illusion, sometimes elevated by the more sublime topics of Holy Writ—the thoughts and the spirit

  Who that knew him, can fail to recall the rapid movements of his somewhat diminutive form, the illumination of his expressive countenance, and the nimble finger with which he used to seize on every little object which happened to adorn or diversify his path? Much less can we forget his vivacious wit—so playful, yet so harmless; the glow of his affections; the urbanity of his manners; and the wondrous celerity with which he was ever wont to turn from one bright thought to another. Above all, however, his friends will never cease to remember that peculiar sunshine which he threw over a company by the influence of a mind perpetually tuned to love and praise. I am ready to think there could be no greater luxury than that of roaming with him in solitude over green fields and gardens, and drawing out of his treasury things new and old.

  When his funeral reached Westminster Abbey on Saturday, Aug. 5th, the procession was joined by the members then attending the two Houses of parliament. Public business was suspended; the Speaker of the House of Commons, the Lord Chancellor, one Prince of the Blood, with others of the highest rank, took their place as pall-bearers beside the bier. It was followed by his sons, his relations, and immediate friends. The Prebendary then in residence, one of his few surviving college friends, met it at the Minster gate with the Church’s funeral office; and whilst the vaulted roof gave back the anthem his body was laid in the north transept, close to the tombs of Pitt, Fox, and Canning. It was remarked by one of the prelates who took part in this striking scene, that considering how long he had retired from active life, and that his intellectual superiority could be known only by tradition to the generation which thus celebrated his obsequies, there was a sort of testimony to the moral sublimity of his Christian character in this unequalled mark of public approbation. For while a public funeral had been matter of customary compliment to those who died in official situations, this voluntary tribute of individual respect from the mass of the great legislative bodies of the land, was an unprecedented honour. It was one moreover to which the general voice responded.

  I recall the great man as delicate in features, nothwithstanding a somewhat strongly marked outline, and in form the opposite of powerful; the head seemed a little “awry,” and is so shown in portraits and the statue at Westminster Abbey. But those features spoke, and that form dilated, when at his work in the house of Commons. It was, however, undoubtedly a disadvantage to the orator, whose business it is to persuade rather than convince—a disadvantage his distinguished son had not, and his grandsons have not—owing more to external advantages than did the illustrious and victorious combatant for the veritable rights of man. He was far past his prime when I knew him, but his voice continued clear, ringing, strong yet melodious, and his eye retained the brilliancy that indicates creative genius.

  His transparent kindliness and simplicity made him, like Fox, lovable even to his antagonists. His freedom from the coarser indulgences which stained Fox’s private life implied also a certain unfitness for the rough game of politics. He escaped contamination at the cost of standing aside from the world of corruption and devoting himself to purely philanthropical measures. The charm of his character enabled him to take the part of moral censor without being morose; and the religious views which in other members of his sect were generally regarded as gloomy, if not Pharisaical, were shown by his example to be compatible with indomitable gaiety and sociability…. His extraordinary breadth and quickness of sympathy led to his taking part in a vast variety of undertakings, which taxed the strength of a delicate constitution and prompted an almost reckless generosity. The slavery agitation happily concentrated his powers upon one main question of the day. His more one-sided supporters, who sometimes lamented the versatility which prevented him from confining his powers to one object, perhaps failed to observe how much his influence even in that direction was strengthened by his sensibility to other claims. He could not be regarded as a fanatic of one idea. He held a unique position in his time as one who was equally respected by his tory allies, by such orthodox whigs as Brougham and Sydney Smith, and by such radicals as Romilly and Bentham. His relations to his own family seem to have been perfect, and no one had warmer or more lasting friendships.

Practical View of Christianity, 1797

  Some very serious persons have their doubts as to the theological principles of this work in their full extent, and I fear it is too rigid and exclusive in its doctrines. There is also too much of a sectarian language, which cannot be approved. But of the intention, virtue, learning, and patriotism of the eloquent and well informed Senator, I have the most honourable and decided opinion. His work is vehement, impassioned, urgent, fervid, instant; though sometimes copious to prolixity, and in a few parts even to tediousness. Perhaps it is the production of an orator rather than of a writer. I should think it had been dictated. Throughout the whole, there is a manly fortitude of thought, firm and unshrinking.

  A work which, for excellency of plan, a strain of masculine eloquence, acuteness of discernment, and force of reasoning, and, above all, for sublime devotion, is not equalled in our language.

  It is the expostulation of a brother. Unwelcome truth is delivered with scrupulous fidelity, and yet with a tenderness which demonstrates that the monitor feels the pain which he reluctantly inflicts. It is this tone of human sympathy breathing in every page which constitutes the essential charm of this book.

  We are happy that, having been obliged to dissent on so many occasions from Mr. Wilberforce’s peculiar views, we can give to this his most important work—and we really believe the most unquestionable and lasting benefit he conferred on mankind—our almost unlimited approbation. We do not pretend to enter into anything like a critical, or still less a theological examination of this work—twenty editions before the copyright had expired, and a great many since, attest its popularity, and in the case of such a book popularity is a high criterion of merit…. Produced not only a sudden, but a permanent effect—his station, his reputation, the lucidity, if not the force of his reasoning, the practical character of his means and object, and the persuasive earnestness, yet simplicity of his style, combined to command the attention, to conciliate the feelings, and finally to convince and convert to the vital truths he inculcated, the hearts of many, on whom a drier, more doctrinal, and more argumentative appeal might have been made in vain. And if he fixes the standard of conduct too high for general attainment, he places it, at least, so clearly in sight, that it seems nearer than it is—and many will be tempted to climb and some will be encouraged to approach the summit, though few or none may be destined to reach it; but, in proportion to whatever height any one may attain, his views will be extended and brightened, and he will be, at last, by so much the nearer to heaven.

  The persons he addressed were men such as those whom St. Paul addressed on Mars’ Hill, but whom few preachers were bold enough to summon to the bar, with the same unhesitating plainness with which they arraigned their humbler neighbours. Wilberforce did not appeal to infidels or unbelievers. He made no assault upon scepticism. His object was to show the respectable and intelligent how far their calm and easy ignoring of religion, even while professing it, was unlike the spirit of Christianity. There is no special charm of style to redeem his treatise from the respectful oblivion into which—after a popularity greater in degree than that which almost any other kind of literary production enjoys in its day—religious books are apt to fall. And nothing can be more unlike the works which have gained something of a similar influence in our own time. It is to be feared that to Wilberforce that broad and conciliatory treatment which translated the time-worn language of Christianity into the phraseology of its philosophical opponents, by way of betraying these latter tenderly into something like faith, or approval at least—would have appeared flat blasphemy. He would have had no understanding of the process which turns the love of Christ into the Enthusiasm of Humanity. The society which he addressed was not one which required such methods.

General

  As these are letters addressed to friends, we cannot expect to find in them any depth of thought; yet they indicate critical discrimination in reading, a sagacious perception of merits or demerits in political organizations, a penetrating judgment of real oratory, liveliness of fancy, and felicity of diction. Such elements of literary merit may be found scattered through a correspondence comprising many hundred letters, some of which run into too great diffuseness of expression; but all are written in a pleasant, easy style, leading the reader on from page to page without weariness…. The earlier stage of Wilberforce’s life was in the very age of correspondence, contemporary with two eminent masters of the art, Cowper and Newton…. With neither of these writers, in some respects, is Wilberforce to be placed on a level: certainly one misses in his letters the indescribable sort of charm which invests those of his contemporaries, but in other respects—such as knowledge of the world, large experience gathered from varied intercourse, a comprehensive and many-sided sympathy, and a peculiar habit of rapidly passing from one subject to another, as graceful as it is characteristic of his extraordinary versatility—Wilberforce is superior to either of his contemporaries.

  The few and trifling faults of Wilberforce as an orator and a man are scarcely worth mentioning. The extraordinary discursiveness and versatility of his mind made him sometimes attempt to keep too many irons in the fire—to shift too rapidly from one subject to another—and occasionally gave an appearance of inconsistency to his conduct.