The Four Men, and Other Chapters

IT THEN I was in America last year, delivering the Yale Lectures on Preaching, I preached “The Four Men” on Sunday morning, April 1 2th. in the chapel of Yale University. Mr. D. L. Moody, the evangelist, who chanced to be present, insisted on its being printed, and he sent copies, I believe, to all the students of the University. In the same irresistible way, he got me to publish “Temptation” and “Conscience,” which were given as talks to the students in his own institutions at Northfield. As these are circulating in America, I have thought they might be acceptable and useful in this country also. Of the other chapters, those on “Christ and the Wants of Humanity” and “Public Spirit” were delivered in the University Chapel, Glasgow, at the academic service, March I5th. 1891, and March I3th. 1892, respectively.

The way in which this book has come together has precluded any attempt at systematic teaching. My sole endeavour has been to handle a few important themes of faith and conduct in a way that may be found instructive and readable by young men.

GLASGOW,
October $rd, 1892.

“WlTH ME IT IS A VERY SMALL THING THAT I SHOULD BE JUDGED OF YOU OR OF MAN’S JUDGMENT; YEA, I JUDGE NOT MINE OWN SELF; FOR I KNOW NOTHING AGAINST MYSELF J YET AM I NOT HEREBY JUSTIFIED; BUT HE THAT JUDGETH ME

is THE LORD.” — I COR. iv. 3, 4. (Revised Version.)

[Note. — The apostle says that there are four judgments which he is exposed to: first, that of his friends — “judged of you;” secondly, that of the world — “or of man’s judgment;” thirdly, his own judgment — “I judge not mine own self;” and, fourthly, God’s judgment — “He that judgeth me is the Lord.”

And he tells us what estimate he puts on these several judgments. For the first two he cares little — “With me it is a very small thing that I should be judged of you or of man’s judgment.” He means to say that he falls back on his own judgment. Yet no, this is not his meaning — “Yea, I judge not mine own self; for I know nothing against myself; yet am I not hereby justified.” The decisive verdict is a higher one — “He that judgeth me is the Lord.”] i i

T might be said that in every man there are four men:

First, there is the man the world sees.

The world looks at each of us and sees a certain image of us. It observes single actions of ours and watches our courses of action, and gradually makes up its mind about our character and conduct as a whole. It takes in a general impression of what we are, and gives it expression in a brief judgment on us. Is it not singular to reflect, that in the town in which we live or the neighbourhood where we are known there is in circulation a general popular opinion about everyone of us? It is usually condensed into very terse terms, such as, He is a good man, or, He is a bad man; He is an excellent, able, generous fellow, or, He is a small, narrow-minded creature; He is good-hearted, but there is nothing in him, or, He is very clever, but he knows it. Few of us are perhaps aware of the exact phrase in which the mental photograph which the public has taken of us is passed from hand to hand; and, for our peace of mind, it may in some cases be just as well. But there is no doubt that it exists; and this is the first man in each of us — the man the world sees.

Secondly, there is the man seen by tJie person iv/io knows Jiim best.

This may be quite a different man from the man the world sees; for every man has two sides — one to face the world with, and one to show to the friend of his heart,

I once had a friend. The popular opinion about him was that he was very quiet and rather dull, without ideas, or experience, or character of his own. Such was the man the world saw. But the man I saw was quite a different being — a man of the most genial humour, who could break into conversation the most lively and discursive or the most serious and profound, with a mind richly stored with unusual knowledge, a fertile imagination, and a moral nature which had passed through all the great experiences of the human soul and all the peculiar experiences of our new time.

This is not a singular case. There is no one that is another’s nearest and dearest who does not sometimes say, The man I know is very different from the man the world knows; people think they know him; but there are heights and depths of which they have no suspicion. Some men, owing to a shy and self-suppressing temperament, are scarcely known to the public at all. They cannot permit themselves to show any feeling, and all their movements in the eyes of others are invincibly awkward. People therefore think them cold and unfeeling. Yet this may be a complete mistake. The most intense and passionate nature may be ice-like or iron-like outside.

There is an old myth of the Greek religion which illustrates this. Luna, the goddess of the moon, is said to have loved a mortal man. As she sailed across the sky at night in her silver beauty, she looked down at him as at other mortals, and he looked up at her as other mortals did. But, when midnight was past and the world was asleep, he still watched and looked up at her alone; and then she turned to him that side of her refulgent orb which is always turned away from the world, and disclosed such dazzling splendours as mortal eye had never seen before.

Thus does friend do to friend. Friend can say to friend,

There’s the world’s side of you; Thus they see you, praise you, think they know you. There, too, I stand sometimes with them and praise you. But the best is when I glide from out them, Cross a step or two of dubious twilight, Come out on the other side — the novel, Silent, silver lights and darks undreamt of, Where I hush and bless myself with silence.

But is this second man better than the first? Let us hope, generally so. Surely most men appear bigger, better, more generous and tender to the one person who knows them best than to the outside world. Surely most of us have someone who would passionately say, He is a truer man, and his life is a truer life, than the public is aware. Yet it is not always so. Oh the wretched man who is more thought of in public than he is at home: whose friend knows that the brilliant qualities for which he has a reputation in public are mere tinsel and trickery; whose wife and family know that the sanctity for which he gets credit is mere hypocrisy! I fear many a house has such a skeleton in the cupboard. He who is a model of courtesy in public may be a tyrant at home; or those who know him best may be acquainted with concealed habits of his life and dark passages of his history which would ruin him if they came to the public ear.

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