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Slightly Off-Topic / Sad News : Henry Chadwick Obituary

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  • John N. Lupia
    Obituary Henry Chadwick * By Rowan Williams * The Guardian, * Thursday June 19, 2008 * Article history The Anglican church, it was said, may not have a
    Message 1 of 1 , Jun 22, 2008
      Henry Chadwick

      * By Rowan Williams
      * The Guardian,
      * Thursday June 19, 2008
      * Article history

      'The Anglican church," it was said, "may not have a Pope, but it does
      have Henry Chadwick." Nothing could better illustrate the unique
      position held for many years by this aristocrat among Anglican
      scholars, who has died aged 87. His erudition was legendary, in
      practically all areas of the study of late antiquity, but it was also
      deployed to memorable effect in the work of the Anglican-Roman
      Catholic International Commission.

      Many sensed that the more recent history of Anglican-Roman Catholic
      relations was a source of some sadness to him. He had little love
      either for radical fashions in theology or for the fierce
      neoconservatism characteristic of some parts of the Roman Catholic
      church in recent decades. He represented that earlier and more hopeful
      phase, begun and aborted in the 1920s at the Malines conversations
      (named after the French spelling of the Belgian city of Mechelen where
      they were held), where Anglicans and Roman Catholics discovered
      unexpected common ground in the study of the fathers of the church and
      in a deep but unobtrusive liturgical piety.

      In that first spring of ecumenicalism exchange, continental Catholic
      scholars came to regard Armitage Robinson, dean of Wells, as the
      summation of everything admirable in Anglican devotion and learning.
      In that respect, Henry was undoubtedly Robinson's heir. It often
      seemed that, at any major ecumenical gathering, some representative of
      a foreign communion would sudddenly wax eloquent about what Henry was
      and represented. And, as a devout savant of the kind he was, he might
      be said at times to have reminded Anglicanism of its better self.

      He once proclaimed ecumenism "a good cause to die for", and was
      certainly deeply committed to finding consensus - not by coining a
      conveniently vague formula, but by a real excavation of common first
      principles. On matters where this seemed utterly elusive - such as the
      debates over women's ordination - he felt, I think, impotent and
      frustrated. He had no relish at all for conflict, even for the
      gentlemanly blood sport of academic controversy. His learned work is
      notably short on open war with other scholars, even where it is
      advancing new and potentially controversial conclusions. The
      fastidiousness made some of his professional life very hard.

      Henry was born in Bromley, Kent, into an accomplished, academic
      family. His father, John, was a leading barrister; his elder brother,
      Owen, became an authority on ecclesiastical history. Educated as a
      king's scholar at Eton, Henry became a music scholar at Magdalene
      College, Cambridge - he retained a lifelong passion for music in
      general and church music in particular - while also studying divinity
      at Ridley Hall.

      He graduated in 1941 and became a fellow of Queens' College,
      Cambridge, in 1946 following a short spell as assistant master at
      Wellington school, Somerset. At a relatively young age he moved from
      Cambridge to take up the regius chair of divinity at Oxford in 1959,
      which he occupied with distinction for 10 years.

      Henry had already established himself in the field with a superb
      translation of an early work of Christian apologetic, Origen's Contra
      Celsum (1953), and had assumed the editorship of the Journal of
      Theological Studies (1954-85). More books, and a steady stream of
      papers, followed his move to Oxford, including works on Sextus and St

      In 1969, however, he paid the price of having won the trust and
      affection of his college when he was appointed dean of Christ Church.
      The scholarship never dried up, and Henry became a venerated figure on
      a wider stage, presiding with inimitable grace and dignity in his
      cathedral. But the college went through some contentious and
      bad-tempered times, and he was much worn down by the storms of donnish
      ego that swirl around every Oxbridge institution. He suffered, too,
      from the last relics of old-style anti-clericalism in Christ Church.
      Altogether these cannot be said to have been happy years, though in
      1976 he produced a widely admired study of the little-known early
      Christian figure and heretic, Priscillian of Avila.

      His move back to Cambridge in 1979, to the other regius chair of
      divinity, which he occupied until 1983, was clearly a relief. In
      Cambridge his lectures were as popular as ever with a new generation
      of undergraduates, and still more substantial research saw the light
      of day. When in 1987 he was persuaded out of retirement to become
      master of Peterhouse, Cambridge, the experience did something to
      redeem the memories of running a college. He was more manifestly at
      home than he had been in the deanship, and was universally seen to
      have steered this college into calm waters by the time he left the
      post in 1993.

      Henry was a profoundly shy and private man for all the generous
      hospitality that he and his wife Margaret "Peggy" Browning, a
      constant, "lively, intelligent and warm-hearted support" whom he
      married in 1945, offered in all their various homes. The dislike of
      confrontation could lead not only to the almost incredibly judicious
      and Olympian style of conversation (beautifully and affectionately
      caught by JIM Stewart in his "Surrey" novels about Christ Church,
      where the provost is clearly drawn from Chadwickian life), but at
      times to a real unwillingness to express commitments - on matters of
      learned detail, on issues in contemporary theology, on public affairs
      - and some found this tantalising, to say the least. Yet its positive
      fruit was shown in the results of the Anglican-Roman Catholic
      conversations, where his hugely resourceful reticence somehow drew out
      possibilities of reconciliation.

      Many (sometimes surprising) names from all over the globe will bear
      witness to his unfailing kindness to, and encouragement of, younger
      scholars. The innate shyness behind the massive and majestic public
      and academic presence meant that there was never a "school" of
      Chadwick disciples. But, if anything, this meant that his mark was
      more widely imprinted.

      No one could replace Henry and no one will. The Anglican church no
      longer shows so clearly the same combination of rootedness in the
      early Christian tradition and unfussy, prayerful pragmatism, and the
      ecumenical scene is pretty wintry with less room for the distinctive
      genius of another Chadwick. But the work done stays done, and it is
      there to utilise in more hospitable times.

      But, meanwhile, there can be no doubt that Henry will be remembered as
      one of the most influential and admired Anglicans of the century, in
      church and academy alike.

      He is survived by Peggy and their three daughters, Priscilla, Hilary
      and Juliet.

      · Henry Chadwick, theologian, born June 23 1920; died June 17 2008
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