Josephine E. Butler

In May, 1888, Josephine Butler started The Dawn, a quarterly sketch of the work of the Federation, and in the pages of this periodical she continued to speak words of encouragement and warning to her friends for over eight years, after which its issue ceased. She and her husband attended the Conferences of the Federation at Lausanne in 1887, and at Copenhagen in 1888; and to the end of his life, notwithstanding his increasing weakness, they were able to enjoy together peaceful visits to relatives in Switzerland and Italy. It was on their way home from one of these visits, that George Butler died in London on March 14th, 1890. Two years later Josephine Butler published her Recollections of George Butler, from which we have already quoted so much, and from which we must now make one more quotation.

We read in the Gospels that the disciples of Christ found themselves one dark evening separated from the Master, “in the midst of the sea”; that He saw them from the shore “toiling in rowing, for the wind was contrary.” Such is sometimes the position, spiritually and morally, of one who has up to a certain point “fought a good fight and kept the faith,” but against whom arise contrary winds and buffeting waves; one for whom “fightings without and fears within” have proved too severe, and who is now “toiling in rowing,” with faint heart and gloomy outlook – the presence of the Master no longer realised to reassure and guide. “Old Satan is too strong for young Melancthon,” said one of the reformers of the sixteenth century, and the same enemy has proved many a time since then too strong for much humbler workers. The problems of life at times appear so perplexing as to be incapable of any solution. The lines of good and evil, of right and wrong, light and darkness, appear blurred; and the weak and burdened spirit loses the hold it had retained hitherto of the highest standard, fidelity to which alone can bring us again out of darkness and trouble into light and hope.

Moses for the hardness of the people’s hearts allowed a relaxation of the severity of the original law given from on high, and so suffered the moral standard to be lowered in some of the most important relations of life. There was a time when it seemed to me that hearts are harder now than even in the old days, and when the stern ethics of Christ – the divine standard – seemed to become impossible as a matter of practical enforcement. Horribly perplexed, I was tempted to give up the perfect ideal. It is in this way, I think, through lack of faith, that compromises creep in among us – compromises with error, with sin, with wrong-doing, unbelief taking root first in the individual soul, and then gradually spreading until a lower standard is accepted in family life, in society, in legislation, and in Government. And at last, as even in our own land, we may see publicly endorsed and signed what the Hebrew prophet calls “a covenant with death” and an “agreement with hell.” Such an acceptance and public endorsement of a compromise with evil proclaims the failure of faith of a whole nation, and the beginning of a “downgrade,” in which virtue is regarded as no longer possible for man.

To speak of clouded moments of one’s own life involves no small effort. But in justice both to my husband and to the movement I have tried to serve I am impelled to do so. There are some people who, if they remember at all that moral uprising against national unrighteousness in which we took part, still regard it as an illusion, and its advocacy as a “fad,” or even as a blot on an otherwise inoffensive career – something which must always require explanation or apology. But there are others who understood from the first its true meaning and far-reaching issues, and who have perhaps imagined that an unbroken consistency of action, based on an immovable strength of conviction, must at all times have characterised any man or woman destined to take a representative part in it. A sense of justice forces me to confess that the fact (in regard to myself) was not always as they imagined; for there was a time when I resembled the faint-hearted though loyal disciple, who, when venturing to walk on the waters, in an evil moment looked away from Christ and around upon the weltering, unstable floor on which he stood, and immediately began to sink. When moreover the sense of justice of which I speak regards one who was and is dear to me as my own soul, then I am doubly forced to speak, and to give “honour to whom honour is due” by telling of the wisdom which God gave him in encouraging and supporting through a few troubled years the tried and wavering advocate of a cause in which both faith and courage were put to a severe test.

A deeply-rooted faith – a personal, and not merely a traditional faith – in the central truths of Christ, and moral strength, the fruit of that faith, were in him united with other qualities which were needful for the task he so well fulfilled. Others whom I have known – teachers and fathers in God – have had this moral and spiritual faith in a high degree, together with an eloquence and power in argument to which he had no pretension. But few – it seemed to me at least – possessed such patience as he had, such long-suffering, such a power of silent waiting, such a dignified reserve, and such a strong respect for individuality as to forbid all probing of inner wounds, or questioning of motive or action, even in the case of one so near to him as myself. He had great delicacy and refinement in dealing with the bitterness or petulance of a soul in trouble. He had great faith in his fellow-creatures. And these, together with his unfailing love, like the sun in the heavens surmounting the hours of cold and darkness, gradually overcame the mists which had wrapped themselves round the heart and obscured the spiritual vision of her for whom he never ceased to pray.

At this time his voice, when simply reading the words of Christ at family prayers, used to sound in my ears with a strange and wonderful pathos, which pierced the depths of rebellious or despairing thought. At times his attitude – probably unconsciously to himself – assumed in my eyes an unaccustomed and almost awful sternness. Sometimes my unrest of mind found vent in words of bitterness (which however only skimmed the surface of the inward trouble), and I waited for him to speak. Then he seemed to rise before me to a stature far above my level, above that of other men, and even above his own at other times, while he gently led me back to great first principles and to the Source of all Truth, presenting to me, in a way which I could sometimes hardly bear, the perfection and severity of the law of God, and our own duty in patient obedience and perseverance, even when the ascent is steepest, and the road darkest and longest. He very seldom gave me direct personal advice or warning. He simply stood there before me in the light of God, truthful, upright, single-minded; and all that had been distorted or wrong in me was rebuked by that attitude alone; and a kind of prophetic sense of returning peace, rather than actual peace, entered my soul, and my heart replied, “Where you stand now, beloved, I shall also stand again one day, perhaps soon, on firm ground, and in the light of God.” And my soul bowed in reverence before him, although never could he bear any outward expression of that reverence. It seemed to hurt him. He would gently turn away from it. He spoke firmly when he differed from any doubtful sentiment expressed or argument used. His simple “no,” or “I think you are wrong,” were at times more powerful to me, than the most awful pulpit denunciation or argumentative demonstration of my error could have been; and then, even if he condemned, his love and reverence never failed.

He knew the Psalms almost by heart, and the inspired words which he always had so ready were more potent for me, when spoken by him, than any other thing. His religion, and his method of consoling, were not of a subtle or philosophical kind; and he was all the better a comforter to me because he did not – perhaps could not – easily enter into and follow all the windings of my confused thinkings and doubtings and revolted feelings. Strong swimmer as he was, I felt in my half-drowned state his firm grasp, and his powerful stroke upon the waters as we neared the land; and when by his aid my feet stood once more upon the solid rock, I understood the full force of the grateful acknowledgment of the Psalmist, “Thou hast kept my feet from falling, and mine eyes from tears.”

I have not up till now dwelt upon the wrongs and sorrows which we were forced deliberately to look upon and measure, nor shall I do so. Could I do so, my readers would not wonder at any suffering or distress of brain caused by such a subject of contemplation. Dante tells us that when, in his dream, he entered the Inferno and met its sights and sounds, he fell prone “as one dead.” I once replied to a friend, who complained of my using strong expressions and asked the meaning of them, as follows: “Hell hath opened her mouth. I stand in the near presence of the powers of evil. What I see and hear are the smoke of the pit, the violence of the torture inflicted by man on his fellows, the cries of lost spirits, the wail of the murdered innocents, and the laughter of demons.” But these, it will be said, are mere figures of speech. So they are, used purposely to cover – for no words can adequately express – the reality which they symbolise. But the reality is there, not in any dream or poetic vision of woe, but present on this earth; hidden away, for the most part, from the virtuous and the happy, but not from the eyes of God. Turning from the contemplation of such unspeakable woes and depths of moral turpitude, it was a strength and comfort beyond description, through the years of strife, to look upon the calm face of my best earthly friend. It was a peace-imparting influence. And now that I walk alone and look only at his portrait, even that seems to take me into the presence of God, where he now dwells among the “spirits of just men made perfect,” and to whisper hope of the approaching solution of the great mystery of sin and pain.

I often recall an incident, which occurred at Winchester in the cathedral, a trifle in itself, but which dwells in my memory as an illustration of the help he gave to me spiritually in time of need. It was during the service on Sunday. I suddenly felt faint, the effect of a week of unusual effort and hard work. Wishing not to disturb anyone or make a scene, I took the opportunity, when all heads were bowed in prayer, to creep down from the stalls as silently as possible, past the tomb of William Rufus, and down the choir, holding on when possible by the carved woodwork of the seats. A moment more, and I should have dropped. I could scarcely steady my steps, and my sight failed, when suddenly there passed a flash of light, as it seemed, before my eyes, something as white as snow and as soft as an angel’s wing; it enveloped me, and I felt myself held up by a strong, loving arm, and supported through the nave to the west door, where the cool summer breeze restored me. It was my husband. He was in his own seat near the entrance to the nave, and his quick ear had caught the sound of my footstep. Quite noiselessly he left his seat and took me in his arms, unobserved by anyone. The flash of light (the angel’s wing) was the quick movement of the wide sleeve of his fine linen surplice, upon which the sun shone as he drew me towards him.

CHAPTER XIV.

INDIA

Josephine Butler’s constant advocacy of Women’s Suffrage is illustrated by the following short speech given at a conference in the City Temple on July 20th, 1891.

I told your chairman that I would come forward just to tell you that I cannot say anything. Still perhaps I may be able to put one little thought before you. I am sorry that fear and timidity are growing up again, and that a fresh conspiracy of silence threatens us.

God gives us a phraseology, a pure and chaste and holy indignation, which makes it possible for us to go to the bottom of these things without offending the chastest ear. For twenty-one years I have worked with my dear fellow-workers in a public manner against these hateful laws, which one of the resolutions pronounced and which I pronounce as accursed. During these twenty-one years there was one thing which made our battle harder than it would have been. We have had to fight outside the Constitution. We have been knocking at the door of the Constitution all these years, and there are men who even now tell me that they would give us anything in the way of justice except the parliamentary vote. We have been talking about certain Members of Parliament who are not fit to occupy that position. Give the women a vote, and see what will be the result. In all my work my one strength has been the strength of the Almighty, sought and won by constant prayer; and the prayer which I now offer in my secret chamber is that the veil may be taken away, and the selfishness – the perhaps unconscious selfishness – may be removed from the hearts of men who deny women equality, and keep them outside the Constitution. Think what we could do in the cause of morality, think of the pain and trouble and martyrdom that we might be saved in the future, if we had that little piece of justice.

The same question is dealt with in a letter written in the following year to a meeting in London of the World’s Women’s Christian Temperance Union.

We may pray and we may preach about these things, and we may raise our voices to some little extent during the excitement of a contested election; but that is not enough. My friends, we must have the suffrage. It is our right, and it is cruel, and a continued injustice, to withhold it from us. It has lately been said that the women generally of the country have not shown any desire for the suffrage. Some years ago I can assert that the women of the country showed a very great desire for it. Men do not know that at the bottom of that desire, underneath many other good motives, there lies a bitterness of woe which is the most powerful stimulus towards the desire for representation in the Legislature. I am sometimes afraid that one of these days some other terrible injustice may be enacted in Parliament through which women will again suffer as they did under those laws I have alluded to. Perhaps it might not be an altogether bad thing, if it caused women to utter once more the bitter cry to which none of our legislators could pretend to be deaf. But have we not, as it is, sufficient trouble, and misery, and degradation among our own sex to make us utter even now the bitter cry – a cry however at the same time of hope, courage and confidence?

In June, 1893, Josephine Butler published The Present Aspect of the Abolitionist Cause in relation to British India: a letter “giving a recital illustrative of the truth that a golden thread of Divine guidance runs throughout the lives and work of those who give themselves to the cause of truth, leading them out of every labyrinth of difficulty towards the goal at which they aim.” She tells how information having been received from various sources that the Regulation System had been continued in several of the Indian Cantonments, notwithstanding the repeal of the Contagious Diseases Act in 1888, and official denial having been made of the allegations to this effect, the British Branch of the Federation decided to make a thorough investigation of the actual state of affairs, which was carried out in the early part of 1892 by two American ladies, members of the World’s Women’s Christian Temperance Union, Mrs. Andrew and Dr. Kate Bushnell.

The wonderful manner in which Providence answered our wish and prayer to find suitable instruments for so serious an investigation I shall now relate. In the year 1878 I was staying with my sister, Madame Meuricoffre at her country home on the borders of the Lake of Geneva. One exquisite summer evening we sat together, with another friend, on the shore of the lake. The water and the snow-capped mountains were lighted up with gorgeous tints of rose and amber from the setting sun. In such an hour of calm repose it is sometimes granted to us to see with greater clearness the past, the present and the future of God’s dealings with us, and of any work to which we have been called. My mind had long been troubled by the thought of the growing and gigantic nature of the Abolitionist work in the various countries of the world, and of the need and lack of women workers. I knew that women must always continue to be at the heart and in the forefront of the work in order to ensure success. I saw around me hundreds of true and faithful women whose hearts were deeply stirred on the question. But where were those, I asked, who would form the powerful phalanx needed for the one object of continued attack on and resistance to that masterpiece of Satan, official or State recognised and regulated prostitution?

These thoughts I expressed to my sister and my friend. It was one of those moments in which, whether in sadness or perplexity, or passive waiting for light, it is sometimes given to us to realise, as with the disciples at Emmaus, that “Jesus Himself drew nigh.” We were asking ourselves: “Whence shall this army of women come? Where shall we find them? What will be the sign of their fitness for this work?” We sat some time in silence; and then I recollect there came to me one of those moments of re-assurance and hope, which are sometimes granted during such silence of the soul. I somewhat dimly recall now that there came before my mind’s eye a host of women presenting themselves from different quarters of the globe, speaking different languages, and possessing various gifts, but all having the special call and the necessary qualifications for this great conflict. It reminded me of the incident recorded in Swiss history, during one of Switzerland’s brave struggles in defence of her freedom; that occasion, I mean, when a great white mist covering the mountains in the early morning rolled upwards, and disclosed to the astonished gaze of the invading army entrenched in the valley a long procession of angels, clad in white, descending the mountain side; an apparition which so alarmed the enemy that it is said they lost nerve, turned, and were defeated. This was but a stratagem devised by a number of shrewd peasant women, inhabitants of the mountain villages, who dressed themselves in white and slowly descended the mountain, thus working upon the superstitious fears of the enemy. So the white-robed army appeared to my mental vision on this occasion. The mists cleared away, and the hosts were descending to the plains to engage in this great spiritual conflict. It was one of those mental pictures which do not fade, a prophetic thought, the fulfilment of which I have been led to remark year by year as noble women of different lands have from time to time appeared just as they were wanted in this cause. Since then I have not doubted as to the advent of the women workers who would be needed in great crises, and especially when the physical forces of the pioneers become exhausted and they must contemplate passing on and leaving the work to other hands. I shall give in the unstudied language in which Dr. Kate Bushnell and Mrs. Elizabeth Andrew recounted it to me, their own narrative of their call to this work. Dr. Kate Bushnell writes: —

“One hot summer day, while searching my Bible for light, I turned first as by accident to Joseph’s dream. As it did not interest me, and seemed inapplicable to my need, I turned the pages quickly, and my attention was next arrested by the account of Belshazzar’s dream, and Daniel’s interpretation. This seemed to me as foreign to my expectations of help as the other, and turning the leaves over to the Gospel of St. Matthew, I read there that ‘when Herod was dead, behold an angel of the Lord appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt.’ My feeling was that I had been baffled in my search for consolation and help in the sacred pages. Being very weary, I threw myself on my couch, thinking of the darkness of Egypt in my own plans. I said to the Lord that I was so stupid in understanding His guidance, that I thought He might have to send me the instructions I needed through a dream, and to guide me at times as He did His simple children of old. I fell asleep almost instantly, and dreamed that I felt myself tossed on the billows of the Atlantic on my way to England to see Josephine Butler.” [At this time we had never met nor corresponded. – J.E.B.] “It became plain to me that she had something for me to do. It was one of those brief, refreshing periods of unconsciousness, from which I awoke almost instantly, but with a strong impression that I must write to Mrs. Butler. This I did, telling her that I came to her much under such an impulse as urged Peter to go to Cornelius, and that I was deeply impressed that she could counsel me as to my future course. She replied, giving me a brief account of the situation in India, telling me that she and some of her friends had been earnestly praying that God would raise up an English-speaking woman to go to that country, and make careful enquiry into the condition of things there, with a view to ridding that conquered people of the oppressive tyranny and shame imposed upon them by the Army authorities, who she had reason to fear had never carried out the will of Parliament in abolishing the system of regulation. This letter I showed to Mrs. Andrew, and we took counsel together. Mrs. Butler had asked me to come over to England, if possible, that we might talk face to face on this matter. Mrs. Andrew was then on the eve of starting for England, and very soon after my decision was taken to join her and to begin our world’s tour together, taking in the special Indian work, if after full consultation with Mrs. Butler this should seem advisable.”

Similarly Mrs. Andrew told how she had received inspiration for this special work from reading Mr. Stead’s Life of Josephine Butler– when “the Spirit’s voice whispered to me, ‘You have not worked, you have not loved as she has worked and loved.’” The pamphlet proceeds to tell the story of these ladies’ investigations, and the wonderful way in which they touched the hearts and won the confidence of the poor Indian women. They found that all these women, “whether of high or of low caste, Hindoo or Mohammedan, and of whatever nationality, whether brought up in virtue and afterwards betrayed, or brought up from infancy in vicious surroundings,” felt a deep sense of the degradation of their position; and that “the fire of their hatred and indignation all centred upon the heart of the regulations, the examinations, and the violation of womanhood which these examinations were felt to be.” Mrs. Andrew and Dr. Kate Bushnell gave evidence before a Departmental Committee as to the action of the Cantonment officials, and the truth of their reports was amply substantiated by the further evidence which the Committee obtained in India. The Report of this Committee led to the passing, in 1895, of an Act which prohibited all examination or registration of women in the Indian Cantonments.

Josephine Butler in 1894 published The Lady of Shunem, a series of Biblical studies, “addressed to fathers and mothers, more especially to mothers.” We give three extracts from this volume.

Is it not a thought, a fact which should wake up the whole Christian world to a truer and clearer view of life as it is around us, that the first record of a direct communication from Jehovah to a woman is this of His meeting with the rejected Hagar, alone in the wilderness? It was not with Sarah, the princess, or any other woman, but with Hagar, the ill-used slave, that the God of Heaven stooped to converse, and to whom He brought His supreme comfort and guidance. This fact has been to me a strength and consolation in confronting the most awful problem of earth, i. e. the setting apart for destruction, age after age, of a vast multitude of women – of those whom we dare to call lost– beyond all others lost – hopelessly lost. We ourselves, by our utmost efforts, have only so far been able to save a few, a mere handful among the multitude; and of the others, unreached by any divinely-inspired human help, we are apt to think with dark and dismal foreboding. We forget that though they may be quite beyond the reach of our helping hands, they are never beyond the reach of His hand – His, who “being put to death in the flesh” was “quickened by the Spirit, by which also He went and preached to the spirits in prison.”