The Types

There are strange parallelisms in the different kinds of truth, which, the more they are searched into, surprise us the more, alike by their beauty and their exactness. Each separate order of truth seems to have its separate orbit, yet all have but one centre. One mind, one purpose, one law, one principle, may be traced throughout them all. The different orders of truth displayed in the inanimate, the animate, the sentient, the intelligent creation, are instances of what we mean. They are very -widely different from each other, yet they present innumerable points of curious coincidence, and connexion, and likeness. They form so many separate strata, superimposed upon each other, most diverse in structure and formation, yet full of resemblances and indentations the one into the other.

Man’s course is between two of these parallel strata. He walks upon the uppermost of the material, but under the lowest of the immaterial. All the former are under his feet; all the latter are above or within him. All that is beneath him — the visible, the tangible, the sensible — he can grasp, he can name, he can point to, he can discourse of, easily and directly. No intricate process needs to be resorted to; no complex sign is to be invented. There is nothing required but an equation of the simplest kind. At the most, it is but the adding or subtracting of similar or kindred facts. The earth, the sea, the hills, the woods, the rivers — these are some of the objects of the material strata, which can be easily grasped, and named, and spoken of, by simple signs. The addition or subtraction of certain facts observed in each, enables us to speak of them in whole or in part, according as we desire. If I speak of the sea, I use a word expressive of certain visible or tangible properties observable in the object. If I speak of the Sea of Galilee, I use a word which expresses the subtraction of certain parts from the former object. If I speak of a wave, I use a word which is founded upon the observation of a still greater subtraction from the parts or properties of the original object. All this is so far simple. It is merely the understanding, finding, or inventing a sign for what the senses have observed, and that sign not an arbitrary one, but naturally suggested by the objects themselves. The contact of our senses with these objects has set us a-thinking about them; and our desire to remember, register, and communicate these thoughts has led us to devise these primary and simple signs, expressive of the material objects around us.

But all this merely refers to what we have called the lower and material strata of things, on the surface of which man is walking. He has, however, something more to arrest his eye, and occupy his thoughts,

19G THE TYPES.

and exercise his invention. There is a vast, an infinite world above and within him, and this world is all immaterial and impalpable. It is altogether different from the former. It is not less real or true; but then it cannot be grasped nor observed by any of his senses. It is far more mysterious and incomprehensible, approaching very near, nay, surrounding him at every point, yet stretching up and away into infinite heights, unsearchable recesses, and unfathomable depths. In thinking and speaking of this inner and upper world, he is brought to a stand. It is so vast, so glorious, so real, yet so inaccessible and so impalpable. In the former case, that of the world beneath his feet, he was like one grasping some sand upon the sea-shore; a thing easily and simply done. In this, however, he is like one attempting to grasp the mighty rock, whose broad base that sand is circling; or rather, we might say, like one seeking to lay hold of the thin mist or thinner air. What is he to do? How is he to fasten his thoughts upon these immaterial objects, so as to lay hold of them, understand them, speak of them, record them and his own thoughts regarding them? Direct signs are impossible, for these objects are silent and intangible. They and the senses do not come into direct contact, and hold no immediate communication together.

An interpreter is needed. He must have some instrument by which he can fix his thoughts upon this solid rock, — some wedge which he can force into its crevices to detach fragments for his use, — something to enable him to understand, to grasp, and speak of this immaterial world with which he is compassed about.

As he passes along between the two parallel strata of truth, — the one beneath his feet and quite intelligible, the other above his head and altogether mysterious and incomprehensible, — he perceives that at certain points tfyese two separate strata touch each other, and are, in a considerable degree, assimilated to each other. He observes some things common between them; common facts, common features, common principles, common laws, indications of oneness in certain things, and up to a certain extent. These resemblances he at once seizes on as means for grasping the rest. By means of these he gets an insight into the infinite world, which, stretching out in its invisible and impalpable vastness on every side, seemed to mock every effort at comprehension. By means of that part of truth which he does comprehend, he learns to lay hold of that which hitherto had been nothing but an undefined region of mysterious majesty.

An idea of a spiritual or immaterial object is not a thing to be learned at once, or grasped in a moment; it must enter the mind in parts and pieces, and these parts or pieces make good their passage into the mind under cover of some material fact, or what we call emblem. This fact is a thing already understood; we keep it constantly before us; we fix especially upon its prominent and characteristic points; we revolve these day by day; in them there seems to be wrapt up a principle, an idea different from them, yet connected with them, and with which, by reason of this connexion, we have become familiar. As we contemplate this idea, it seems to disengage itself from its material inclosure and rise upwards, and we find that in reality it forms part of a higher circle of truths, and belongs to that very region which we had deemed so entirely inaccessible. While we knew it only in connexion with the lower order of material facts, we had learned to think of it and speak of it by some particular name or sign. That name or sign we still retain, now that we have discovered that the suggested idea belongs to a higher and immaterial order of truths.

This formation of ideas, this extraction of the spiritual from the material, is a process continually going on. It is the natural process in the mind of a being composed of soul and body, and surrounded on every side by the material and the immaterial world. The former is the hand by which he grasps the latter; the ladder by which he ascends from one region of truth to another. Long familiar with certain palpable facts or objects, he begins to perceive or infer certain ideas or principles as suggested by them; these at length, the more they are contemplated, assume more of an immaterial character, and, as they do so, seem to come out from the materialism which suggested them, till, rising upwards by their own buoyancy, they connect themselves with the superior and spiritual order of truth, and carry up with them the soul, which otherwise had remained linked with the materialism of earth. Though thus transferred to the higher strata, they still retain old material names and associations, and are still spoken of and thought of through their old material signs.

This process of disengaging the spiritual from the material element, the inaccessible from the accessible, the incomprehensible from the comprehensible, is nothing else than the way in which the mind advances in its onward progress from infancy. This is the way in which we learn, and know, and expand in mind and soul. The spiritual is at first unintelligible to us; we learn it by our observations upon the material. The points where they meet and come into contact with each other, the common principles, the common laws, — these, carefully pondered, gradually remove the indefiniteness of the spiritual; give them shape and distinctness, till, by degrees, they become equally intelligible with their cognates, while at the same time nothing of their spirituality has been parted with. It is not that we have found a material element in the spiritual, but we have found a spiritual element in the material.

It has been remarked that “the use of natural Msis to give us aid in supernatural history; the use of the outer creation is to give us language for the beings and changes of the inward creation. Every word which is used to express a moral or intellectual fact, if traced to its root, is found to be borrowed from some material appearance; right originally means straight; wrong means twisted; spirit primarily means wind; transgressions the crossing of a line But it is not words only that are emblematic; it is tilings which are emblematic. Every natural fact is a symbol of some spiritual fact; every appearance in nature corresponds to some state of the mind, and that state of the mind can only be described by presenting that natural appearance as its picture. A cunning man is a fox; a firm man is a rock; a learned man is a torch; light and darkness are our familiar expressions for knowledge and ignorance; visible distance behind and before us is respectively our image of memory and hope.... There is nothing capricious in these analogies, but they are constant, and pervade nature. These are not the dreams of a few poets here and there; but man is an analogist, and studies relations in all objects. He is placed in the centre of beings, and a ray of relation passes from every other being to him.”

This immaterial element, thus disengaging itself out of material facts, not only furnishes us with a key for unlocking whole ranges of kindred truth, — not only expands the soul, and fits it for comprehending what is spiritual, but unconsciously operates upon the whole man, moulding his character, habits, and feelings. “We not merely extract a positive amount of abstract truth from visible objects; we are not merely put in possession of a clue which will lead us far into the recesses of many a spiritual labyrinth, but we are brought under an influence which is not the less effective because it is unfelt. Thus we find that races inhabiting mountainous regions are peculiar in mind, imbibing a solemnity, a majesty, a tenacity of character belonging to no other race. In like manner, the inhabitants of plains, or of the wilderness, or of the sea-coast, or of rich, flowery expanses, have each their own characteristic, with which they have unconsciously been impregnated from the scenes around them. Their country has spoken to them, and they have listened and obeyed: their mountains have spoken, and they have given reverent heed; their plains have spoken, and they have heard; their flowery meads have spoken, and they have heard; their seas have spoken, and their soul has echoed the voice. Each object has a voice which the soul hears and unconsciously obeys. As has been well and eloquently said, “Every natural process is but the version of a moral sentence; the moral law lies at the centre of nature, and radiates to the circumference. It is the pith and marrow of every substance, every relation, and every process. All things with which we deal preach to us. What is a farm but a mute gospel? the chaff and the wheat, weeds and plants, blight, rain, insects, sun? It is a sacred emblem, from the first furrow of spring to the last stack which the snow of winter overtakes in the fields. Nor can it be doubted that the moral sentiment which thus scents the air, and grows in the grain, and impregnates the waters of the world, is sought by man, and sinks into his soul. The moral influence of nature upon every individual is that amount of truth which it illustrates to him. Who can estimate this? Who can guess how much firmness the seabeaten rock has taught the fisherman? How much tranquillity has been reflected to man from the azure sky, over whose unspotted deeps the winds for evermore drive flocks of stormy clouds, and leave no wrinkle or stain?”

In further illustration of the ways in which natural phenomena became materials of thought, suggesters of thought, and signs for expressing thought, let us observe the curious manner in which words belonoinsr to one of the senses are interchanged with those belonging to another. What apparent connexion has the sense of taste with that of hearing? yet we hear of words “sweeter than honey.” What connexion has the human voice with metals? yet we read of voices that are “silver-sweet,” and of “music silver-clear.” Milton speaks of “liquid notes,” “melodious tears,” “golden days and golden deeds.” Architecture has been called “frozen music.” A Gothic church has been pronounced “a petrified religion.” In these, and numerous others which might be quoted, it is very difficult to state exactly the connexion, or distinctly to enunciate the precise idea conveyed by this mingling of the objects of the different senses together; yet what reader does not feel the meaning at once, and appreciate the beauty arising from this mingling of objects?

Such, then, are the ways in which natural phenomena are rendered productive and vocal. They are our alphabet, our hieroglyphics, our founts of types. They are our iEolian harps, ever wakeful, and full of heavenly melody; needing but a breath to call forth the rich stores of music hidden in each wondrous string.

All this, however, has reference more especially to an unfallen creation; but, with the Fall, a new order of things began to open up, — the truths regarding man’s fallen estate; and, with God’s design for undoing the effects of the Fall, another and more mysterious order still began to be unfolded.

Creation felt the effects of the Fall, and began to sink into decay. It began to look like a thing with which God was displeased, His frown was everywhere. Every object proclaimed the disaster that had come over it; they spoke of evil, of something altogether wrong, of a state of things which God could not bear. The curse flowed over everything, impregnating earth, sea, and sky; and creation in all its parts began to teach man, in so far as it was possible for it to do, what sin was, and what sin had done. The material world, in its fallen state, was to give forth a new idea to the gazer’s eye — the idea of sin and ruin. Hence it was that God did not allow creation to fall into chaos or nothingness. He did not blot it out of being, neither did He permit it altogether to wither away. He arrested its downward progress at the very point where it would most effectually subserve the end in view; He caused it to retain a vast amount of its former splendour and beauty, that man might see what a world it had been; what a hideous and horrid thing sin must be that could deface a scene so fair and bright.

But there is more than this manifest in creation. No one can look upon it without seeing that it is not in a state either of positive stagnation at a certain point, or gradual decay, tending irretrievably downwards to annihilation. No; every object seems labouring to reproduce itself in its former perfect state, aspiring upwards again, striving to clothe itself anew with its primeval glory and incorruption. Every bud and blossom tells us this; every spring and summer tells us this. Nor do they less emphatically proclaim this, because autumn and winter follow close behind, ever levelling what was reared, ever corrupting and withering what had been put forth with such goodly promise. And what is cultivation, but man’s attempt to regenerate the soil? — an attempt which shews that he does not consider creation hopelessly blighted, that he sees symptoms about it prophetic of what it shall one day attain to, when the word shall be spoken that shall heal and bless — “Behold, I make all things new.”

Here, no doubt, the question occurs, How can these things really be? It is easy to see how God, in creating all things perfect, should so construct the material as to make it explanatory and illustrative of the immaterial. But the Fall has come in and disturbed every thing. All is out of course; all is discord. How, then, do the objects of a fallen world accomplish God’s purpose?

Certainly it is marvellous that it should be possible to represent the invisible by the visible, the spiritual by the sensible, the pure and perfect by what is throughout impregnated with the curse, and pervaded with defilement; yet still it is so. Analogies, the most vivid and striking, do exist between the sad realities of a fallen world, and the ideas, promises, principles, and laws of an nnfallen and perfect creation. That these are accidental, who will affirm? To say that they are so, would only increase the difficulty and deepen the mystery a thousandfold. It cannot be accidental that the natural world should abound all over with such rich analogies and fit similitudes for illustrating the spiritual world. If, in digging amid ruins, we should find numerous pictures exactly corresponding to the scenes and objects around, should we venture to say that the coincidence was accidental? Most manifestly the present state of the fallen world is as perfect and true a part of God’s grand original design as the first and unfallen state of creation. And most marvellous is the wisdom that is thus displayed; so to construct a creation consisting of millions of parts and objects and scenes, that, while in its perfect state itproclaimed one order of truth, in its decay and disorganisation it should proclaim another! Everything was an emblem before; everything is an emblem still. On the bright, glossy enamel with which the unfallen world was overlaid, truth of infinite variety was written so as to be legible to the unfallen creature; and when the enamel disappears, and the bright surface is stripped off by sin, a new and as infinite variety of truth is found written beneath, legible to the fallen, and suited to his altered state!

What explanation of all this can be given, save that God has arrested creation in its fall at a certain point; a point which we could not have fixed, a point which He only could determine? By this arrestment, while most of its former features are retained, yet everything has undergone a change, a change in itself, a change in its relations and circumstances; so that the world, as it has existed since the Fall, has presented that precise amount of change, that exact aspect of mingled light and gloom, beauty and ruin, harmony and discord, which might furnish man with innumerable new truths, and with equally innumerable signs for expressing them.

But still we have only discovered a little of the mystery; the most important still remains behind. Creation, as it now stands, can tell us something of what sin is, and of what God’s displeasure against it is; but it is very little that can thus be told. How shall He teach us fully? Besides, though creation does suggest the hope that its own restitution and man’s regeneration are designed, it can tell us nothing about the way in which this is to be accomplished. But to man this latter is everything. What is God’s method of saving him? How is he to know and understand that method? As this was the most important truth for man to know, so it was the first which God began to teach him. But to teach this, He must call in the aid of something more than the mere natural processes and objects of creation; new symbols must be constructed, a new alphabet must be formed, and a new fount of types must be cast, for the purpose of teaching man God’s way of forgiving and restoring him.

The first promise made to man contained the enunciation of the great truths which were to be afterwards developed. No sooner was God’s great idea announced, than immediately symbols were constructed for illustrating it; for making man understand it; for engraving on man’s mind the new truth thus so briefly proclaimed; and thus the symbol and the doctrine ever went on side by side; the sacrifice and the promise, the type and the truth, being always displayed toff ether. The altar, the fire, and the victim were the visible picture which God presented to the eye; the promise and the doctrine were the description and explanation placed at the bottom of the picture, that there might be no misunderstanding nor mystery. One ffreat truth, for instance, which God sought to inculcate on man by means of sacrifice, was that of transference or substitution. Of this he could have no idea before, and it could only be gradually brought into his mind by being every day presented to him in a visible form. Thus he was taught that death was sin’s wages; that either he must die, or another must die for him; and that God’s way of saving was by substituting another life for his. Every time he brought the lamb, he was saying, “I deserve to die; and I come to God as one that deserves to die, and only as such; but let this life be counted for my life, this death for my death, this blood for my blood.” Such was the symbol, such was the truth, such was the way in which the one explained the other. God constructed the material emblem of the immaterial truth; the emblem was material, the truth spiritual, yet they both contained the same principle, that of substitution; and it was this common principle, contained in both, that made the one a type of the other.

The whole sacrificial or ritual system may be said to be one of artificial types. These are composed of things taken out of their natural order and use, and put together in a new order and under new circumstances, quite different from the natural. The lamb, for instance, in itself, may be taken as the type of innocence, and thus far it is a natural type; but when led to the altar and there slain, its blood poured out, its parts divided and burnt, then it is an artificial type. But whether natural or artificial, the above remarks equally apply to both. It is the common principle or truth developed in them, and in the things they represent, that constitutes them types. Their typical character arises from their containing in them a truth, or the rudiments of a truth, which admit of a far loftier and more extended application.

These artificial types are very easily distinguished. So long as a being or thing is merely seen fulfilling its natural functions, and occupying its natural position, there may be considerable difficulty in determining whether it be a type or not. But when we see it taken out of its natural place, and made to perform other functions, then it stands forth as a thing marked out by God for a typical purpose. The whole sacrificial and priestly ritual is an illustration of this; hence there has been comparatively little discussion about these artificial types. They have, no doubt, a natural office or function assigned them, but then tins is not the prominent thing about them. It is the unnatural or artificial part that is the prominent thing; and it is this that makes an artificial type so much easier to be distinguished.

In the natural types, however, there is no such artificial marking off of the objects; all is natural, and hence the difficulty of distinguishing them. They are for the most part persons, presented to us with more or less fulness of narrative in the inspired history. They rise up before us, and take their way across the earth most naturally and simply. Their lives are just the lives of men; they act, and speak, and move, and die, just as we do. How, then, can we know whether they are types?

Now, without professing to answer the question fully here, I have to remark that, as God himself is the historian of their lives, we may be quite sure that nothing respecting them is either omitted or narrated save for a special reason. “We are made to see just so much of their character as God wished us to see, and no more. It comes before us exactly in that light in which God wished it to come, and by which He intended it to convey instruction to us. How little, for instance, of Melchizedek’s history is it that we know; and yet how much we should have desired to know! Yet it is just the small amount of information we have concerning him that may be said to constitute his typical character. It is what God has concealed reardin him that makes up the completeness of the type. He stands before us as one “without father, without mother, without descent, having neither beginning of days, nor end of life,” Again, in David’s case it is entirely the opposite. God has been full and minute in the narrative of his life; all the chief movements of his life are brought before us. And what a type does this life present us I That which is hidden of Melchizedek, and that which is told us of David, is the thing which constitutes the type.

But how are we to discover these types? What rules or tests can we apply for their discovery? We think it has been shewn satisfactorily that we are not to limit the types to those which are actually declared to be so in the New Testament, These are given as specimens; not to prevent us from proceeding further, but to be our guides in prosecuting the investigation. When, for instance, our Lord quoted on the cross the first verse of the twenty-second psalm, was it to teach us that only that verse was applicable? Was it not to lead us to apply the whole psalm to Him? Or, when we find some psalms referred to by the evangelists as fulfilled in Christ, is that to deter us from applying others? Does it not rather furnish us with a principle of interpretation, and a specimen, in illustration of that principle, that we may carry on the exposition throughout the whole book, to which we have thus been furnished with an inspired key?

It is thus that we should proceed with the types, taking those of them that have been Divinely interpreted to us as our guides to the understanding of the rest. In these we may perhaps sometimes be found erring — fanciful — it may be extravagant; but still the guide is not only a safe one, however much we may abuse it, but it is the only one which we ought to follow. Much is to be learned in the way of typical exposition from the Epistle to the Hebrews, not merely in reference, to the passages cited, or the events referred to, but respecting a multitude of others to which there is no allusion at alL The apostle proceeds upon certain principles of interpretation recognised among his countrymen. He did not write as one who had discovered a new theory of interpretation which he called on them to receive; but he proceeds upon principles owned by and familiar to them. He takes his stand upon their own application of the prophecies regarding Messiah, and reasons with them upon principles which both he and they acknowledged. To ascertain these is of much importance. They are the principles adopted by the nation to whom the prophecies were addressed, and, therefore, acquainted with the circumstances in which they were spoken; a nation to whom the language and dialect of prophecy were as their native tongue, and of whose history every event had been an accomplished prophecy; a nation who had not only prophets to predict, but also to guide them to the right meaning of “what manner of things the Spirit of Christ, which was in them, did signify;’” a nation that in their last days had the Messiah himself to expound to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning Himself, to correct their principles wherein they were false, and to confirm them wherein they were true.

Paul takes for granted, for instance, that the Jews were right in their application of the Psalms to Christ; that the sufferings there spoken of were His; that the honour and power there celebrated were His; that the kingdom and triumphs there sung of were His. The apostle’s object was not to shew that they were wrong in their ideas of Messiah, but that in Jesus Christ these ideas had been fully realised; that the objections which stumbled their faith respecting His sufferings and death were the very things which proved the validity of His claim. They thought that He was immediately to assume the kingdom, and to “reign in Mount Zion and in Jerusalem, and before His ancients gloriously,” and they were stumbled to see Him crucified. Paul shews them that before the triumph there must come the suffering of death. They read in the Psalms that all things were to be put in subjection under His feet, and they were amazed to see that all things were not yet put under Him. Paul shews that there was a reason for this delay, and that when His present service as priest should be accomplished, the predicted subjection of the earth to His sway should take place. He brings no charge against them for holding false views regarding Messiah, though he shews that they held imperfect ones. He does not say that they erred in believing what was not true, but in not believing all that was true. They were not so far amiss in their ideas of the kingdom itself, but they were very defective in their notions regarding the manner in which it was to be introduced. Many seem to suppose that their opinions regarding the kingdom were altogether gross and earthly. Herein they charge them unjustly. For carnal as, in some respects, might be their ideas, yet they did not dwell upon the mere outward splendour of the kingdom; they always conjoined with this its purity, its justice, and equity. What they chiefly erred in, however, was as to the time and manner of its introduction. They expected at once a triumphant Messiah. Paul, following his Master’s example, shews them that they were first to have a suffering Saviour; the cross must be before the kingdom; that which is unseen and spiritual before that which was visible and glorious.

The point, however, which I wish chiefly to notice is, that he makes use of certain acknowledged principles of interpretation. These may seem to us peculiar, but they must be true, and if so, of great moment to us. Some have perhaps felt, in reading the quotations from the Old Testament made in the Epistle to the Hebrews, that there was a difference between the apostle’s method of citation and that to which we are accustomed. Hence some of his quotations appear to them like ingenious accommodations. They have wondered that he should make such important doctrines depend upon what appear to them ambiguous passages. They try to get over this surprise by saying that since an inspired writer has asserted such to be the meaning of a particular passage, they must believe it to be so, though they cannot see that such is the case. But is not this just saying that an inspired author is entitled to divert a passage from its true and original sense in order to suit his views? Is it not maintaining that inspiration gave authority to pervert Scripture, — that an apostle is entitled to draw his conclusions from false premises? And yet is it not obvious that if he wished to convince those with whom he reasoned, he must take the passage in its plain and fair meaning? So that his application of it does not make a meaning for it, but merely shews us what the true meaning is.

The proper conclusion for us to have come to would have been, that our hermeneutics were at fault, and that it was the influence of these that had perverted our modes of exposition, and blinded us to the true sense of Scripture. There is, I fear, too much of the German leaven amongst us. In drawing up rules upon this subject, — canons of criticism as they are called, — we have not consulted Scripture, but have devised rules altogether independent of the principles there exemplified. The inspired interpretations, instead of being eagerly laid hold of as models, are disregarded, perhaps treated as fanciful and out of date. It is thought that man’s reason alone can tell us how the Word of God is to be understood. Now, so long as we proceed in this track, we cannot expect to be expositors of Scripture; at least to attain to the knowledge of its fulness. Leanness and meagreness of view must be the fruits of such a method. “What we need most in the present day is a pure system of scriptural hermeneutics constructed after the apostolic model, of which we have so rich a specimen in the Epistle to the Hebrews.

I plead for no mysticism, but the reverse. I advocate literal interpretation. And why? Because Christ himself and His apostles interpreted the Old Testament with a plainness and simplicity that amazes us. Many of their quotations are made according to what some of us might be apt to call ultra-literality. This was the system universally recognised then, though not fully acted on by the unbelieving Jews. Hence, in reasoning with a Jew, one had peculiar advantages. “We could take him to his prophets, and shew him how exactly all types, prophecies, and promises had been fulfilled in Christ. We could shew him that his own principles ought to lead him at once to admit the doctrine of an humbled, suffering Messiah. Again, in reasoning with a Christian, who spiritualises what the Jew holds to be literal, we take him to such a passage as Isaiah liii., and ask why he so thoroughly acknowledges the literality of that chapter, and yet explains away all the surrounding ones? Is the Christian in such a case a better or more consistent interpreter than the Jew? No, in no wise. And wherein lies his error? Not in explaining literally what evangelists and apostles had taught him to do, but in not carrying out their principles of interpretation;’ in stopping short at the very point where he ought to have proceeded onwards; in applying different rules to different chapters, according to some latent feeling in his own mind as to what is spiritual and what is carnal; in adopting the interpretations of inspiration, but not its principles; in receiving its citations merely, without making its method of citation his own.

These remarks apply with special force to the subject of typical exposition. In this department the apostle furnishes us with many specimens as our guides. The beginning of the Epistle to the Hebrews presents us with the principles of general Scripture interpretation, and the latter part of it gives us sj)ecially those of typical interpretation. And we may wonder much, that, with such helps as these thus afforded us, we should have made so little way in investigating this subject. M any seem to turn away from it as fanciful; others as puerile; others as dry and uninteresting, perhaps unprofitable. Types are but too often looked upon as little better than quaint devices; or perhaps mere relics, curious enough in the estimation of the antiquary, but of little intrinsic value. Christians look with an eye far too cold and indifferent upon these beautiful and pregnant symbols, which set forth in such richness of colouring, or depth of shadow, or vividness of relief, the grace of the gospel, or the glories of the kingdom. How anxiously have the learned of this world been watching the gradual discoveries made in the unriddling of Egypt’s hieroglyphics; yet how careless is the Church about the successful explication of the inspired symbols of the Old Testament! With what interest are men regarding the labours of those who are toiling; to unravel these curious puzzles, in order to discover that in such an age such a Pharaoh lived and reigned or died; that such a town or district worshipped a calf, a crocodile, or a leek; yet how utterly heedless are they to the investigation of the types of Scripture, in which are wrapt up the whole character and story and work of Immanuel, God with us! Each one of these types has a voice which speaks of Christ, and that with no uncertain sound. If we hear it not, it must be that we are not at pains to catch it; that we are not careful to place ourselves in the spot or the position from which their voice may reach our ear; for like echoes, which they truly are, they can be heard only when listened to in one particular spot; and, if we take no pains to place ourselves so that we may hear them, need we wonder that they seem to us silent and unmeaning?

One would have supposed that in these last days, when the Holy of holies is no longer an unapproachable or forbidden shrine, it would be a saint’s delight often to turn aside for the purpose of visiting its hallowed courts; to survey with untiring interest its innermost recesses; to linger amid its consecrated relics; to inspect and handle its venerable furniture, so curiously devised, and of such perfect workmanship; to tread its solemn floor, hitherto traversed only by the yearly step of the solitary high priest; to mark the cherubim and palm-trees figured on its golden walls, all exquisitely wrought; to stoop over and look into the ark of God, with its tables of the law, and Aaron’s budding rod; to gaze with awe upon the place where, between the cherubim’s outstretched wings, rested the fiery emblem of Jehovah’s presence and majesty. Yet it is not so; and though God has certainly, by the lips and pens of some of His servants, been calling more attention to these subjects, still they command too little of our interest and thought. They form not, as they ought, the saint’s true picture gallery, his cabinet of gems of the antique, his storehouse of divine emblems, each one of which contains in it some heavenly truth, some thought of God, which may be matter of meditation for eternity.

All these remarks, however, are but general principles; the basis of interpretation, but not the interpretation itself. We have not been expounding the types, but merely shewing of what materials they are constructed, in what mould they are cast, and how they ought to be interpreted. Minute or special expositions, however, would quite overstretch the space we can afford here, so that all we can do in this department must be very brief.

Almost all the types, no less than the promises, point forward to the kingdom, and from none of them can we extract any hint of a Millennium before the Advent. Many of them have long since begun to be fulfilled, but of few can it be held that their fulfilment is completed. This is reserved for the days of Messiah the Prince. In Him, at His first coming, most of them began to be verified; but it is His Second Advent that is to be the time of their filling up. It is then that He is to shew how truly all these were but the shadows of “good things to come.” Of these good things we have the earnest now; but the full reality remains to be brought forth at the appearing of the Lord. The instrument has been prepared, — a many-stringed instrument such as David used, — its chords have already been touched, and found in tune; and oftentimes there comes forth from it rich music to cheer our pilgrimage and give us songs in the night: yet in this “strange land,” by these rivers of Babylon, its sound is feeble and its harmony incomplete. But when our David comes, Ho shall take into His hands this ancient harp, prepared for Him aforetime, and striking its varied chords, shall draw forth from it such a full strain of all-perfect harmony as earth has never heard.

Adam stands before us as the first type. In part, this was fulfilled when Jesus came to be the Head of the Church, the redeemed family; for regarding Him, as such, it is written, “As by one man’s disobedience many were made sinners, so by the obedience of one shall many be made righteous,” But the largest portion of it remains as yet unverified. It is at His second coming that He is to take possession of the better Eden, and have dominion over a renovated earth, with all things therein. Now “we see not all things put under Him,” as under Adam, but then we shall. God’s purpose from the beginning was to rule this earth by a man. The first man sinned at the very outset of his reign, and proved himself incompetent to fulfil God’s design. But still that purpose must stand. Man’s rebellion shall not frustrate it. It has been for a time, indeed, deferred, but only that preparations may be completed for carrying it out in the Man Christ Jesus, “the Word made flesh,” the second Adam, who is the Lord from heaven. The government of earth shall be put into His hands, and He shall execute righteous judgment. By Him shall earth be made to flourish anew. Under Him, that fruitfulness in evil to which the soil was doomed for the first man’s transgression, (Gen. iii. 18,) shall be removed; and that barrenness in good, which was inflicted on it for the blood shed on it by the first murderer, (Gen. iv. 12,) shall be exchanged for sevenfold fertility and beauty. Under Him and the true Eve — His Bride, the Church, taken from His wounded side — shall the whole earth rejoice.*

In Cain and Abel we have the types of the two great classes which had just before been predicted; the seed of the serpent, and the seed of the woman. Their characters, their principles, their actings, are placed

* “None ever saw this world as it was in its first creation, but only Adam and his wife; neither shall any ever see it until the manifestation of the children of God, that is, until the redemption or resurrection of the saints.... Adam, therefore, as a type of Christ, reigned in the Church almost a thousand years. The world, therefore, beginning thus, doth shew us how it will end, viz., by the reign of the second Adam, as it began with the reign of the first. These long-lived men, therefore, shew us the glory that the Church (shall have in the latter day, even in the seven thousandth year of the world — that Sabbath when Christ shall set up His kingdom on earth. According to that which is written, ’ they lived and reigned with Christ a thousand years.’... Hence, therefore, in the first place, the dragon is chained for these thousand years.” — BURTAN on the First Chapters of Genesis.

before us, as if for the purpose of introducing us, at the very outset, to those two mighty divisions of the race which were to be kept up, irreconcilably, till the appearance of the great Deliverer for the final crushing of the serpent’s head. In their history we see the meaning of these awful words — “I came not to send peace upon earth, but a sword,” — a sword which is not to be sheathed till He come who sent it. In Abel we see a sinner saved by grace, and washed in blood; one who is “from above, not from beneath,” and whom, therefore, the world hates and seeks to slay, roused to murderous anger by the sight of Jehovah’s acceptance of him and his offering. In him we see the persecuted Church, the worn-out saints, the slain witnesses, whose blood ceases not to cry, “How long, 0 Lord, holy and true! wilt Thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell upon the earth?” In Cain we have the despiser of the blood, the rejecter of the Saviour, the enemy of righteousness. He stands before us as the representative of the various wickedness that was to pour itself out upon the earth. In him we see the son of Belial, Eclom, Babylon, Borne, Antichrist, the Man of Sin, the foe of Israel, the malignant destroyer c f those whom Jehovah favours and blesses, the breaker of the brotherly covenant, thirsting for the blood of the martyrs of Jesus; and who, when he has fulfilled his time and ripened his malice, shall hear sentence pronounced against him as a “fugitive and vagabond,” — “Depart from me, thou cursed, into everlasting fire!” Enoch rises before us as the type of the last generation of the Church, who “shall not sleep, but be changed.” The bitterness of death is not for him, as it was for righteous Abel. The world, doubtless, sought to slay him; but he was taken out of their hands. He overleaped the grave prepared for him, and was caught up beyond their rage, to be for ever with the Lord. Ere he had traversed the third part of his weary pilgrimage, when wickedness is ripening, and judgment making haste to descend, he is taken away from the evil to come: true type of those who shall be found walking with God, in the day when the last vengeance overtakes the world.

In Noah and his family we have the type of that remnant, who, belonging to many nations, Jew and Gentile, shall be safely hidden from the swellings of the last flood of fire; of which the first flood of water was but a figure. In some hiding-place prepared of God, some cleft of rock, some ark, some covert from the tempest — we know not what — they shall brave the fury of the fiery blast, and, coming forth from between the waves of that red sea of flame, shall repeople a purged world. In that day, like Noah and his family, they shall build their better altar, and present to God their thank-offering of deliverance for a sweet-smelling savour; receiving in answer the gracious promise, “I will curse the ground no more;” and beholding above their heads the “emerald rainbow,” — true sign of creation’s restitution, and pledge of a joyous spring, with all its unwithering verdure, to the green earth for ever.

In Melchizedek we discover the type of Messiah, the King, King of Salem and King of Righteousness. In his double character of priest and king, he is one of the fullest types of our Royal High Priest; of Him who is to be a Priest upon His throne. We wait for the filling of this type, in the day of the appearing of the Lord. Then, when the slaughter of opposing kings shall have been consummated by the descendants of Abraham, who are to be His “battle-axe and weapons of war,” He shall come forth to bless the triumphant host out of the better Salem, His own more glorious city.

In Abraham we have the type of the Church in the present dispensation. She has been called out of a present evil world, and made to forsake kindred and country at the command of the God of glory. She has become a stranger and a pilgrim on that very earth which has been promised to her for an everlasting possession. He had but his altar and his tent below, and his covenant God above; so has she. It is her all. It was enough for him; and she finds it enough for her. He looked for the city which hath foundations; and so does she for the city of the “twelve foundations,” garnished with all manner of precious stones. (Rev. xxi. 14.)

The dream or vision of Abraham, recorded in Genesis xv. ] 2-1 8, is a most significant type. The component emblems are a smoking furnace and a burning lamp, passing between the divided pieces of the sacrifice. As expounded by God himself, (verses 13 and 14,) these are designed to symbolise Israel’s history, and, doubtless, also that of the Church of Christ. Egypt was the first verification of the “smoking furnace:” for she is expressly called by the name of the “furnace of iron.” (Deut. iv. 20.) The deliverance under Moses was the first fulfilment of the “burning lamp.” The whole book of Exodus might truly be called the story of the “smoking furnace” and the “burning lamp:” no title could be more appropriate. And what was Israel’s history in succeeding ages, but a continual repetition of these two in succession? Where, then, is Israel now? Where has she been these many generations? In the smoking furnace. But what does this type foretell of her future story? She is yet to be seen as the burning lamp; “The righteousness thereof shall go forth ’ as brightness, the salvation thereof as a lamp that burneth.” (Isa. lxii. 1.) And when is this to be? In the day when it shall be said to the daughter of Zion —

“Behold, thy Salvation cometh!
Behold, his reward is with him,
And his recompense before him!”

Then shall this lamp be kindled, no more to grow dim or be quenched, but to shed its holy brightness over all the earth.

In Moses we have the type of Him who is to be the true “King in Jeshurun,” a “leader and commander to the people;” who, in the day of Israel’s second and more glorious exodus, shall go before them for their deliverance and salvation. In Him we have also the “Prophet like unto Moses,” no less than the mighty

King. And as in Melchizedek we have the union of priest and king, so in Moses we see the union of prophet and king — the type of the true Prophet-King by whom Israel and the whole earth are yet to be ruled and taught.

In Aaron we have the full type of the great High Priest, in his person, his office, and his work. The blood of atonement has been shed, and, to present it, our Aaron has gone within the veil. There He now remains, appearing in the presence of God for us. Meanwhile His Church waits around, expecting Him to come forth to bless her, as Aaron did the assembled thousands of Israel. His work of blessing and intercession is not confined to the Holy of holies. When He leaves it, His lips are opened in words of still fuller blessing, carrying on the mediatory work which He had gone into the holiest to begin. He has been eighteen hundred years within the veil. We may therefore look for His return without delay. And as He departed from Olivet in the attitude of blessing, so to Olivet He shall return in the same attitude, to complete that which was then left half unspoken.

In Joshua we have the type of the Captain of the Lord’s host, leading Israel into Canaan, and planting them there in peace and order, casting out their enemies from before them.

In Samuel we have a striking type of Him who was, in His own person, to fulfil the threefold office of Prophet, Priest, and King.

In David we have the “Man of War,” breaking his p enemies in pieces, and ruling over Israel as their Shepherd and King.

In Solomon we see the true Prince of Peace, who “shall have dominion from sea to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the earth.”

But I must close these sketches. They might be greatly multiplied. And it would be found how fully they embody fragments, each in its own degree, and according to its nature, typical of that higher order of truth, for the illustration of which they were originally constructed or recorded. Divine truth is what man but slowly learns, in spite of all God’s pains to teach him. It enters his mind only in fragments, — fragments which lie scattered over all Scripture, but which are recapitulated or summed up in Him who is Himself the sum of truth, — the undivided Truth. It was for the foreshadowing of Him that these types were fashioned. Each is but a fragment; for, as a mere finite piece of creation, it could be no more: and hence it requires a multitude of such fragments to make up the image of the Infinite One. But when these innumerable gems shall be brought together and adjusted, it will be seen how fully and how richly they set forth His person and His work, in all the grace that has already been manifested, and in all the glory that is yet to shine forth upon the world.

Thus in type, as well as in prophecy, God’s great original purpose may be clearly traced. Not only persons, but actions, objects, rites, times, festivals, — all are typical, all are framed to give utterance to the things concerning the King, and pointing, not only to His cross, but to His crown; not only to His shame and death, but to His coming glory and righteous kingdom; all of them exquisitely polished and set, as precious stones in which His beauty may be seen; all of them telling the same story of God’s everlasting purpose; all of them parts of the same God-manifesting universe, every atom of whose dust shall yet be made to praise Him for ever!