Mayow Wynell Mayow opens his letter by framing the present moment as one of “perilous times,” a phrase drawn from Scripture that immediately signals the gravity of the ecclesiastical dispute at hand. Writing to the Rev. William Maskell, Mayow acknowledges the risk of presumption in commenting on Maskell’s recent letter, yet insists that the crisis demands such boldness. He explicitly declines to offer a full rebuttal, instead focusing on a single point he believes Maskell has overlooked: the question of how far the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council’s decision commits the Church of England, even if one grants its jurisdiction over doctrine. This narrow, precise focus distinguishes the work from broader polemics of the period.

The Argument from Parliamentary Analogy

Mayow develops a striking analogy between the Church’s predicament and a hypothetical parliamentary error in factory legislation. He imagines a bill intended to protect factory children that, due to ambiguous wording, is later interpreted to permit cruelty. If Parliament, knowing this, refuses to correct the ambiguity, it would be complicit in the cruelty. Similarly, he argues, if the Church of England allows an heretical interpretation of its formularies—specifically regarding baptismal regeneration—to stand uncorrected, it adopts that heresy. The analogy is carefully hedged: Mayow notes that the original framers might have been innocent of heretical intent, just as Lord Ashley and Mr. Fielden were not cruel. Yet the present generation’s inaction would still condemn it. This rhetorical move allows Mayow to criticize the Church’s current leadership without impugning earlier divines.

The Church’s Limited Freedom and the Call for Convocation

Mayow starkly contrasts the State’s power to revise its laws with the Church’s inability to act independently: “The Church (among us) alas! has no freedom of speech: no direct power of action.” He argues that the only remedy is for the Church to petition the Crown to license convocation—a synod—to address the doctrinal ambiguities exposed by the Privy Council’s impending decision. Notably, he insists that this step is necessary regardless of what the decision actually is, because the mere possibility of heresy being admitted demands a clear ecclesiastical response. He urges clergy and laity alike to meet in London for this specific purpose, framing the petition as both a duty and a test of the Church’s integrity. The language is urgent but measured, avoiding outright defiance of royal authority.

Suspending Judgment Until the Church Acts

A distinctive feature of Mayow’s argument is his call to suspend final judgment on whether the Church is committed to heresy until it has had the opportunity to respond. He writes, “I think any one of us may, nay every one of us should, suspend our judgment as to her being committed to heresy until we see what it is she will do.” This is not a passive waiting but an active exhortation: the Church must do all it can, and only then can its culpability be assessed. Mayow’s phrasing echoes legal reasoning, treating the Church as a corporate body whose actions—or inaction—will determine its moral and theological standing. The letter thus functions as both a theological argument and a practical call to ecclesiastical action, rooted in a careful analysis of responsibility and ambiguity.

Readers approaching this letter should note its precise historical context: the Gorham judgment (1850) on baptismal regeneration, which sparked intense debate over the relationship between church and state. Mayow’s pamphlet is one of many responses, but its focus on the mechanics of commitment—how a church becomes bound by a court’s interpretation—offers a distinctive angle. The letter rewards attention to its analogical reasoning and its careful distinction between past intent and present responsibility. Those unfamiliar with the details of the case may wish to consult a brief summary of the Gorham controversy before reading.