The Permanent Quantity

There is a permanent quantity in the Bible about whose inspiration the Christian Church is substantially agreed. Probably we shall never have a definition of inspiration which does not itself need to be defined. By inspiration I mean a statement, doctrine, message, or discipline, which separates itself from all ordinary thinking, which so far separates itself as to throw ordinary thinking into obvious contrast, and which associates itself with such a quality of moral discipline as to exclude the idea that itself can be the fantasy of a wanton imagination. I lay much stress upon the quality of the discipline; it is not mere pain; it is not a trick of vanity; it is not a sordid spectacle set up for sordid uses: on the contrary, it searches the heart; it purifies the motive; it abases and chastens the imagination; and, above all, it creates a desire and a yearning for the good of others all the world over akin to the love which created the cross. This conception of inspiration enables me to accept the Bible, correctly translated into English, as the Word of God. The Bible addresses itself to the greatest subjects — Creation, Providence, Redemption, Sanctification, Destiny. Upon all these subjects its tone is dogmatic, solemn, impressive. The conceptions of the Bible are as large as its subjects. It guesses nothing, postulates nothing, apologizes for nothing. We may apologize for the Bible: the Bible never apologizes for itself. All this would be incomplete, and as evidence would be only partial (at best suggestive and inferential), but for that peculiar quality of discipline upon which the Bible inexorably insists. The Bible makes no bid for popularity. It risks its popularity by its severity. It does not ask for homage based upon concession. It does not approach our confidence through the medium of our vanity. It takes us back to our ignorance, our weakness, and our shame, that it may take us forward to God’s wisdom, Christ’s almightiness, and the Spirit’s miracle of holiness. Thus the Bible is not only a sublime revelation of God, it is also a penetrating and sanctifying discipline of man; and because of this double action — this complete and effective ministry — I have no scruple in speaking of the Bible as “the Word of God,” founding that title not upon anything claimed by the Bible for itself, but upon its supreme content and purpose. If the Bible were not the Word of God, or if the title “the Word of God “were a blasphemy or even a vital mistake, I think that, having regard to its own limitation and its special purpose, it would have warned me against making an idol of it, and would have said,” See thou do it not, for I am only a record of a progressive revelation, and I abound in nearly every kind of error, not literal only, but moral also.” If I had the faintest scruple as to estimating the Bible as the Word of God, it would be dissolved by the fact that the Bible constantly seeks me in God’s name, offers me God’s love, welcomes me to God’s pardon, and constrains me to obedience to God’s will. So large, so tender, is the Spirit of this wondrous Book! The Bible was not written to tell me what the Jews did, but to tell me what God did through the Jews. What the patriarchs or the Jews did three thousand years ago can have only an archaeological interest for me; but the moment I see the divine movement or the divine purpose in the Book I say, “I will turn aside and see this great sight,” how in so small a space I can see the genesis of history and the very outline of God! Under the happy influence of this feeling I have great confidence and intense joy — even if without technical and formal authority from the Book itself — in prefacing the public reading of the Scriptures with the solemn invitation, “Let us read

the Word of God.” Another minister would, I infer, substitute this more discriminating form, if he used any form at all, “Let us read the sacred and inspired record of the Word of God.” If it came to a question of internal claim on the part of the Bible itself, I should find no difficulty in upholding at least the equality of the simpler designation.

What is the permanent quantity that is in the Bible — the quantity, in fact, without which there could be no Bible in the sense in which we understand that term? It is, compendiously, the revelation of God; it is, in detail, every law that can beneficially affect the condition and the perfecting of human life — “profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, for instruction which is in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, furnished completely with every good work.” It is evident that the man who wrote the Second Epistle to Timothy believed that some Scripture, somewhere, written by some pens, was inspired; that there was some writing somewhere which he regarded as “Holy Scripture,” and that such Holy Scripture undertook the whole spiritual culture and perfecting of man. Now if I could lay my hands on that Scripture, and if I believed it to be what Paul says it was, I could have no difficulty in regarding it as the Word of God. It cannot be too carefully marked that the reference is to something written, and therefore something that could be read; something different from a Personality, yet not opposed to it; a writing, a pamphlet, a book of some sort. In the present inquiry that fact is of vital consequence. Jesus Christ was not a written book. It is with a written form that this inquiry concerns itself. You cannot substitute the word “Christ” for the word “Scriptures” in such a passage as this: “Beginning at Moses, he expounded unto them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.” There is a writing, and there is a Christ. According to the Apostle Paul any Scripture which is not profitable — vitally and permanently useful — for teaching, for reproof, for correction which is in righteousness, which does not complete the man of God and furnish him unto every good work, cannot be regarded as inspired, and every Scripture covering and fulfilling this ministry may be accepted as inspired by the Holy Spirit. Now on the ground of history and on the ground of personal experience it is claimed that the Bible, as we have it, and as we translate it into all languages, brings men to God, makes them men of God, fills them with thoughts of God, and creates in them a desire to be holy after the manner of God, and because it does this, does it openly and subtlely, does it constantly and unexceptionally, it is no exaggeration of claim to represent it as “the Word of God.” Nor can we so re-edit the Bible as to say with definiteness that the exclusion of what may be called local and limited history would not affect the parts which are avowedly moral, spiritual, universal, and permanent. The Bible is impregnated through and through with one infinite and glorious purpose. Take out of the Bible every passage that refers to God, that accounts for creation, that relates to man, that dwells upon Redemption, Forgiveness, Righteousness, and Sanctification, take away all the passages bearing upon the restoration and comfort of the human heart, the purpose of human discipline, the subjugation of sin, and the salvation of the world, and what is there left? So immensely do these great subjects overshadow all other subjects, and so exquisitely do their several modes of treatment constitute one noble harmony, that it would be a conscious injustice on my part — I dare not speak for others — to hesitate to pay homage to the Bible as verily and abidingly “the Word of God.”

It has been said by a German writer that the difference between false religions and true religions is that the one has documents and the other has living prophets. It is happily the distinction of the Christian religion that it has both. It is a marvelous combination of the ancient and the modern. From my point of view the Bible is at once the oldest and the newest of books. I have found it safe to suspect the newness which has no antiquity, and to disregard the antiquity which has no modern applications. Time is old, but every summer is new. The earth is old, but the grass withereth and the flower fadeth. When the flower blooms it is Eternity smiling in time. Christianity has indeed its documents, the individuality of each entering into and enriching the individuality of the whole. Genesis and Job are not the same in style, but it is the same man who is tempted, the same devil who tempts, the same God who protects, the same God who rules the issue. The Chronicles of the Kings and the Acts of the Apostles are varied enough in style and action, yet there is something within the whole movement and evolution which makes them hard reading for atheism. So wondrously have we seen Providence working in personal experience and in national history, that it is now evident that men may be working in different ages and different countries, in total ignorance of each other’s existence and labors, and yet serving a common purpose as if moved by a common impulse. There may not be so much difference in age and country and language and environment, as we sometimes suppose, or within all the accidental difference there may be an invisible link — even that wondrous line, beyond sight and touch, which stretches “from everlasting to everlasting.” The atom and the planet are both from God — the single soul and the consummated race.

The Christian religion has documents. To one test they may be fairly subjected. Can any man add one true line to the moral or spiritual code which is set up in the Bible? Can any man publish an appendix of omitted morals? Can any man add to the tender balms and solaces provided in the Bible for broken hearts and wounded spirits? We have had centuries of education — this age represents the latest wisdom of the world — can we, with such advantages, add a solitary tittle to those Scriptures which are “profitable for teaching, for reproof, for instruction which is in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, furnished completely unto every good work “? That is a fair challenge. It is in the line of questions which are asked in the Bible itself. God challenges the deities manufactured in the smithies of the world. He says that no man can add a cubit to his own stature, or turn one hair black or white. Can man enlarge the circumference of the earth by one half inch? Why not, then, boldly challenge the world to add one line or tint to the moral excellence of the Bible? No such addition has been made. Variation, illustration, adaptation we have had in happy abundance, and we desire to have more and more, but to the integral substance nothing can be added. Art sits before the same landscapes; music interprets the same breezes; poetry handles the same harp; one generation passeth away and another generation cometh, but thy throne, O God, is forever and ever. Another fair question is, If the moral code of the Bible is complete, how is that completeness to be accounted for? Does any theory so thoroughly satisfy the inquiry as the answer, “Holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost”? That answer I am able to accept in all the fullness of its meaning and so to regard the “Holy Scripture” as indeed and in truth “the Word of God.” But have not some beautiful hymns been added to the Bible? Not one. They are only beautiful because they are biblical. Have not some noble moral apothegms been added to the Bible? Not one. If one, produce it. If you produce it, I will engage to find it in the Bible as to its spiritual veracity. If any man thinks he can add to the commandments of God, he may be the man who was in the Apostle’s mind when he wrote: “If there be any other commandment, it is summed up in this word, namely, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” There are, then, germ-commandments. There may be more in a commandment than there seems to be. Man’s genius, even in commandmentmaking, cannot outrun or exceed God’s inspiration.

How are the biblical documents to be read? Can the technical or strictly professional grammarian read them? Can the mere elocutionist bring himself within the lines of their innermost meaning? It must, in simple justice to my purpose, be distinctly understood that in speaking of the grammarian or the philologist, I speak of him only in his academical capacity, and in that capacity I hardly hesitate to deny his ability to read the Bible at all. I even doubt whether he should take upon himself the office of an interpreter. In holding this opinion I am not underestimating his ability; I am recognizing the peculiar quality and unique purpose of the Bible.

Thank God, the Church has ever been rich in men who are happily both grammarians and interpreters; I am, however, speaking of grammatical experts who do not even profess to care for the Bible more than for any other book. A man may be able to parse a book without being able to understand it; and a man may approve the grammar of a book in the very act of combating its doctrine. In reference to the Bible the grammarian pure and simple has an undoubtedly important work to do, but a still more important work to leave undone. He must pass from grammar to sympathy before he can understand or explain some passages. Grammar deals with syntax, philology deals with words; sympathy penetrates the writer’s soul, and elicits the half- expressed meaning of his heart. Perhaps only the mother can read the child’s letter. But will God reveal more to ignorance than he will reveal to largeness of knowledge? Who can say? His way is in the whirlwind and in the cloud, and it is not known. He says he will look to the man who is of a broken heart; and a little child is his image of greatness in his kingdom. It may be that some kind of ignorance is a qualification for receiving spiritual mysteries. Humility may be more and better than syntax, and “babes “may be trusted with revelations withheld from” the wise and prudent.” “Even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight.” God rejects the narrow wisdom which offers incense to its own vanity. “Woe unto them that are wise in their own eyes, and prudent in their own sight.” “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent.” “We speak the wisdom of God, which none of the princes of this world knew.” It was to very plain men that Jesus said: “It is given to you to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it is not given.” Grammar and philology are indispensable within their own lines. No man must imagine that he is wise because he is not a grammarian. The dogmatism of ignorance never rendered any real service to the truth. The cant of self-depreciation may be but concealed infallibility. It is important to make these things clear that error may be avoided on both sides. Jesus Christ was reproached with never having learned letters; yet his sayings are unfathomable, tabernacling in letters as angels might halt under the roof of men. My submission, then, is that the Bible is more than a book; it is marked by a peculiar quality — the quality which makes the Bible what it is — a separating and differentiating quality — call it supremely spiritual, or call it distinctively supernatural — and that quality can only be penetrated by a spirit kindred to its own, and that in the reading of the innermost meaning of the Bible spiritual character is the chief medium or instrument of “the higher criticism.” The moment inspiration begins, the apparatus of criticism must be changed. It is admitted by all who regard the Bible as something more than an interesting collation of very ancient literature, that there is some kind of inspiration in it, that God is revealed in it, and that God’s will in some sense or degree is made known in it. At that point literal criticism begins to feel its limitations. At that point another function of inquiry or appreciation comes into action. The Apostle Paul puts the matter in the most lucid and acceptable manner when he says, ‘The natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God, and he cannot know them because they are spiritually discerned, judged, or examined.” The Apostle claims that some things are “revealed through the Spirit.” He says, “The Spirit searcheth all things, yea, the deep things of God.” The most profound literal criticism will pause at this point, and the ablest scholars will

themselves be the first to confess that they are standing on holy ground. I claim, then, that in the degree in which the Bible is inspired, it can be truly read only by the ministry of the inspiring Spirit, and that he only who receives the Holy Ghost can feel the power of Holy Scripture. The lexicon cannot supersede the Spirit.

With a theology so vast, so sublime, yet so practical, calling us to all that is mysterious and ghostly in adoration, summoning the soul into the inmost sanctuary of the Invisible God — without a shape on which to rest the affrighted eye, or a line on which to lay the trembling hand; calling us onward and upward through a silence that makes our very breathing a conscious trespass, and through a light from which our very purity shrinks in shame — with a theology so practical as to search our hidden life as with fire, to test our standards and balances, to bring our words to judgment, and to track our daily course with the criticism of God — with a theology demanding personal incarnation in fellowship and service, charging us with the sacred trust of representing Christ to a hostile world, and constantly charging us to prove the reality of our faith by the sincerity of our love — with such a theology handed to us by inspired penmen for exposition and exemplification, who does not see that high above all other qualifications — even prophecy, tongues, mysteries, and all knowledge — must stand in holy isolation and solitary privilege the PURE HEART that alone can see God?

But there are not only documents, there are living prophets. It is claimed that some men are now inspired. It is also claimed that preachers, teachers, prophets may now receive direct messages from God, and that until they do receive such messages they have no right or authority to preach. We must understand this statement before we can receive it. What does it mean? The inspiration of the human heart is perfectly possible apart from the reception of a new or personal message. We may be inspired to read old messages aright. There may be an inspiration of delivery as well as an inspiration of authorship. We may be inspired to read and not to write. “Then opened he their understandings, that they might understand the Scriptures.” “Open thou mine eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of thy law.” If we meditate day and night in the divine law, we may receive a truly divine inspiration without being conscious of having received a formal message which has been withheld from every other praying soul. Every man will be inspired according to his own individuality. But we must beware lest we make any Scripture of “private interpretation,” and cry, “Lo here,” or “Lo there,” without Christ’s authority. Inspired men may be least conscious of their own inspiration. The more a man is inspired, the more clearly will he recognize inspiration in others. It is so in art, in statesmanship, in character; why not in our estimate of “the goodly fellowship of the prophets,” and “the glorious company of the apostles “? If every man is to preach the special message which he is supposed to have received from God, we shall have not a few conflicting inspirations. But precisely the same difficulty arises from an inspired reading of an inspired book. All sermons do not agree. All doctrines do not agree. All conceptions of the Church do not agree.

Yet all are supposed to be traceable to the Bible or to be actually founded upon its distinct teaching. Able attempts have been made in all Christian centuries to propitiate the infidel when he has asked whether such and such discrepancies can be reconciled, or such and such sanguinary policies can have been instigated or approved by a God of mercy, or such and such anomalies would be permitted to exist if the supposed Ruler of the world were really omnipotent. But that line of questioning only begins the deeper and bitterer interrogation — it is unbelief in its crudest state. Unbelief not only attacks the historical and external contradictions of the Bible, it follows faith into the interpretation of what we call the deep things of God, and ridicules its most cherished sanctities: unbelief mocks at prayer; it jeers at a Bible out of which both the Trinitarian and the Unitarian bring convincing and overwhelming proof; it mocks the Arminian and the Calvinist, as each goes to the same book to prove that the other is wrong; to the most solitary and august of all sufferers it says, “Save thyself and come down from the cross;” and it flippantly regards the future as a cloud, and heaven as a fantasy. Unbelief is not confined to technicalities. It is really a mistake to suppose that Unbelief is standing outside the ring-fence of Faith sobbing out its tender heart and begging Christian scholars to explain how, in Samuel, David took from the King of Zobah a thousand and seven hundred horsemen, and how, in Chronicles, he took from the same king, apparently on the same occasion, a thousand chariots and seven thousand horsemen. Dear, sweet, guileless Unbelief is quite prepared to enter the church and enjoy the sacraments if only the number of horses could be made the same in one book as it is in the other. No, no, that is not the measure of Unbelief. That is only where Unbelief begins. When he has been satisfied respecting the horse and his rider, the docile infidel will say, “And how are the dead raised up, and with what body do they come?” Do not imagine that the delightful infidel, that pet of all juveniles, is only waiting to see the Hexateuch properly dated and properly signed, in order that he may adopt the creeds and idolize “the historic episcopate.” Infidelity, where it is honest and courageous, sets itself in ostentatious hostility along the whole line of the supernatural, the revealed, and the inspired, and not merely against certain literal and obvious discrepancies. By all means let discrepancies be reconciled or removed — scholarship is quite equal to this useful work — but do not suppose that the successful readjustment of chronologies, dates, and authorships will lead the infidel to accept the Bible as “the inspired record of the Word of God.” I question whether it would even help him to do so. Possibly it would bring into more vivid and revolting significance the fact that he “did not like to retain God in his knowledge” (Rom. i. 28). It is not for me to become a judge of motive, or to defame men simply because they differ from me; neither is it for me to contradict “the inspired record of the Word of God” when it declares that certain men “became vain in their imaginations and their foolish heart was darkened,” and “they changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshiped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed forever.”

I am addressing myself to the point that men may to-day be as directly inspired as were the apostles, and I merely noticed the infidel by the way. That there are honest infidels may be quite as true as that some men are born blind. My point is that even now teachers who see no reason to doubt their own inspiration differ from one another in their interpretation of “the inspired record of the Word of God.” Then what is the value of inspiration? When a house is divided against itself can it surely stand? When inspiration has lost its consistency has it not forfeited its authority? Can a fountain send forth sweet waters and bitter? If the inspired men of the present day give different views of fact; if the very first sentence in some of their books is a misstatement; if their very prefaces are marked by glaring errors of fact — does not this throw a strong light upon some things in the obviously mechanical part of the Bible? Is there not an inspiration of doctrine? Is there not an inspiration that leaves the self-boastful intellect alone and delivers its holy message to the obedient heart alone? There is no need to be afraid of apparently conflicting inspirations wrhere the moral purpose is noble. The poorest of all consistency may be identity in words. I do not doubt that a strong biblical argument could be drawn up in support of free-will, and certainly an equally strong argument could be drawn up in support of predestinarianism. Nothing can be clearer than the humanity of Christ as delineated in the New Testament; he is called “a man mighty in word and deed,” and again he is called “the man Christ Jesus”; he said he did not speak his own words, but the words of him who sent him; he said his Father was greater than he, and “being in an agony, he prayed.” On the other hand, Jesus Christ has been adored and trusted as God the Son, and his deity has been defended out of the very New Testament which is supposed to have proved his simple but holy manhood. Paul is supposed to have taught salvation by faith, and James is regarded as having taught salvation by works. It is possible that some minds may regard these as infinitely greater discrepancies and confusions than those connected with dates, localities, battles, spoils, and pedigrees, and if they are irreconcilable I agree with the estimate formed of their importance. They do not put my faith to any strain. There are great discrepancies amongst human minds. There are great discrepancies in each individual human mind. Man may be described as self-discrepant. Inspiration operating through such instruments must be affected by the medium of its action. One man is a poet, another is a reasoner; will they report upon any mystery in the same way? Will they see exactly the same thing and nothing more in any fact in life? I believe that Jesus Christ was a man, and I also believe that he was God the Son. Faith has its function, and so has obedience. Man’s will is free within God’s sovereignty. The bird may fly in the open firmament, but it cannot pass beyond the horizon. Things apparently so antagonistic do not necessarily contradict each other; when justly interpreted, they may complete each other. It is along this line that I find satisfaction and peace. A chapter of Paul should be followed by a chapter of James. The miracles and the beatitudes should be read together. This doctrine of mutual completion should be applied along the whole line of thought and experience. No one minister is the ministry. No one communion is the Church. No one man is humanity. We need all the parts to make the whole, and we need the whole to understand each of the parts.

I am not indisposed, then, to believe in present-day inspiration, and present-day prophets, under conditions which can be clearly stated, the principal condition being that current inspiration shall operate with biblical lines. The reason for this limitation, if it is a limitation, is that the inspiration of the Bible is inclusive and complete. This would be a mere statement if it could not be instantly followed by illustrations and proofs. My submission is that in nothing whatsoever that is wise, good, true, can present-day inspiration make any advance upon the Bible. That is a clear issue. Happily it is an issue that can be submitted to practical tests. Take the supreme question of character. The quality of manhood that is produced or contemplated by any book is a good test of the quality of the book itself, provided always that the character is not merely pictorial, but vital and beneficent. What, then, can transcend the biblical conception of character? It is character founded upon a New Birth. At this moment we are dealing with the conception and not with the inner mystery. Has modern inspiration made any advance upon that conception? The New Birth means in its evolution, holiness, completeness of the divine image in the soul, new creatureship, eternal life. Can present-day inspiration indicate any omissions of excellence and supply them? If detail is required, here it is: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, meekness, self-control.” Can one word be added? Take the question of Social Beneficence. Socialism, variously defined, is the rage of the hour. Have we moved one step beyond the Bible-line? I trust we have inspiration enough to be just even to the Bible. Has any man added one tint of beauty to the parable of the Good Samaritan? Has the modern prophet ever sent a tenderer message to wandering souls than the parable of the Prodigal Son? Is social service poorly represented in the closing words of the twenty-fifth chapter of the Gospel of Matthew? Through and through, from Genesis to Revelation, the Bible is saturated with the spirit of sympathy, and alive with the doctrine of social responsibility. What, then, can present-day inspiration do? It will find its function in obedience. New forms and new applications are possible, and in occasional instances may even be desirable, but the root-ideas are in the Bible. That Book is more than a record. Records refer to the past, but the Bible claims and rules the whole future. That is an infinite distinction. I call special and prolonged attention to it. The Bible is, indeed, a record; but it is also a revelation. It is not only a tree on whose fruit the ancients fed, it is the Tree of Life, and its leaves are for the healing of nations yet unborn.