Bradley and his friends achieved a notable victory in the academic field:
philosophic authority and influence passed largely into their hands in all
English-speaking universities. But it was not exactly from these seats of
learning that naturalism and utilitarianism needed to be dislodged; like
the corresponding radicalisms of our day, these doctrines prevailed rather
in certain political and intellectual circles outside, consciously
revolutionary and often half-educated; and I am afraid that the braggart
Goliaths of today need chastening at least as much as those of fifty years
ago. In a country officially Christian, and especially in Oxford, it is
natural and fitting that academic authority should belong to orthodox
tradition--theological, Platonic, and Aristotelian. Bradley, save for a
few learned quotations, strangely ignored this orthodoxy entrenched
behind his back. In contrast with it he was himself a heretic, with first
principles devastating every settled belief: and it was really this
venerable silent partner at home that his victory superseded, at least in
appearance and for a season. David did not slay Goliath, but he dethroned
Saul. Saul was indeed already under a cloud, and all in David's heart was
not unkindness in that direction. Bradley might almost be called an
unbelieving Newman; time, especially, seems to have brought his suffering
and refined spirit into greater sympathy with ancient sanctities.
Originally, for instance, venting the hearty Protestant sentiment that
only the Christianity of laymen is sound, he had written: "I am happy to
say that 'religieux' has no English equivalent".
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