Student's Life in Edinburgh
THE preceding letters, written during his “tutorial” life, will give an excellent picture of his mental and spiritual progress during that interval of partial rest between his St. Andrews and his Edinburgh career, which insufficient health (chiefly from what he afterwards called “his old enemy,” intermittent fever) had unwillingly compelled him to take.
That interval had not been altogether an unstudious one, though college work had to be, for a season, lost sight of The last year of his curriculum had been cut short by illness through over-study; it was needful that, before entering on his Edinburgh course, he should have a certain amount of mental repose, though still prosecuting his favourite studies and pursuits, reading a good deal, and relaxing himself with out-door employments, such as gardening, which,
with his botanical knowledge, was always a pleasure
Student’s Life 17i Edinburgh.
to him. Touring about, also, with his pupils, was a great refreshment to one whose eye and ear were ever wide open to all sights and sounds around him. His frequent resting-place was St. Mary’s Loch, which he has described in one of his letters, and which he enjoyed amazingly. He taught, and yet, all the while, he quietly looked about him on the beauty which surrounded him: not discontinuing his studies, yet enjoying the quiet of a Christian family, and the opportunity of training up two young men, both by companionship and varied instruction, for the futurities of active life. In the capacity of tutor he did his work thoroughly. He liked the tutorship, he loved his pupils, and he threw himself into the work of these two years with the same wholeheartedness that he had done into the work of college years. I need hardly add that his affection for his pupils was returned by them to the full.
This season of retirement from college life was not only a peaceful but a profitable time, with bearings upon his future missionary work, though he knew it not. The experience he thus gathered was of a new kind. Though he had a great deal of teaching power and skill in his constitution, he had not yet learned the art of teaching. He soon found that he could teach; and the discipline in this respect, through which he thus passed was most suitable; and in the practice of it at this time, tie acquired a proficiency in “the art of instruction” which was most helpful afterwards. He learned how to make use of his previous acquirements, and he taught in earnest. The minuteness with which he entered into every part of the daily lessons, especially in the language department, made his instructions the more lucid and lasting. While teaching he learned, and while learning he taught; with this only drawback, that he was led into late hours of study, which told upon his health. How much this experience was needed for his Paris work, and how it was brought out in his intercourse with both young and old among the poor ouvriers, I need not here say.
He had little thought in these two quiet years how much he himself was gleaning for his great though brief life work. But God generally trains us in the dark. He does not tell us what He means at every step. We go through His process. His discipline, unconsciously, and find out only in the end what He meant, and how wise the training was; hard perhaps, and unpleasant, but always suitable. We could not have done without it.
In 1871, he came to Edinburgh, and commenced his theological career at the New College. He passed through his full curriculum there; entering with characteristic fervour into the work of the different
Sttide7ifs Life ui Edinburgh. 95
classes, and undergoing with high credit the dififerent examinations. His quiet room in Archibald Place, hard by the Meadows, could bear witness to the ardour with which he prosecuted these studies, and no less to the devotional spirit in which they were all carried on. For “Bene orasse est bene studuisse” was his motto from first to last. The classics he did not throw aside; but Biblical philology was now his more peculiar study, and the niceties and beauties of New Testament Greek occupied him intensely.
It was during the last of these years that he set himself to study Sanscrit under Professor Aufrecht (now of Bonn), and in it he made great proficiency. Though his busy after-life arrested his progress in it, he never allowed himself to forget it. In that comparative philology in which he delighted, he was constantly recurring to it, bringing it to bear upon the various languages, ancient and modern, which he was studying or using. To trace a modern word whose origin was wrapt in mystery to its Sanscrit affinities, was his delight; and his power of explaining and illustrating these linguistic niceties was peculiar. He did not use many words, but what he did use went to the point, and brought out the simple, or it might be great, original idea which the syllable or sound was intended to convey. These derivations had quite a charm to him; nor did he fail to make them interesting to others. He never hored anybody with his philology; but he was always ready to give out his stores. In one of our last walks in Paris, we came to the railway station at Auteuil, over which is inscribed, Gare de Vouest I asked him how it was that both English and French languages had that word luest in common. He reminded me that they also had east in common; explaining that these names of opposite points of the compass carried us back to the Sanscrit, in which the words described a peculiar sound or breathing supposed to be characteristic of both these quarters. He imitated the sound with his voice, which, with his fine ear, he could do well. But as to the setting it down on paper, that is hopeless. You could hardly ask him any such philological question, but his information was at hand, and his answer ready.
He studied also the Gothic, and very thoroughly; making himself complete master of its grammar, as well as of its vocabulary. This led him to investigate the history and opinions of Ulphilas, the apostle of the Goths; especially with reference to his famous translation of the Bible into the Gothic language about the year of our Lord, 370. He had read up all the literature of this most interesting subject both in English and German. He had made it for years his favourite study, and though not satisfied as to the
Sttcdenfs Life in Edinburgh. 97
soundness of that Gothic apostle and translator, he felt intensely interested in his history, both as a scholar and a missionary. Into the history of the period he had somewhat minutely entered, and thought that he was able to throw some light upon the opinions of Ulphilas. He had collected large materials for this purpose, and had woven them into a narrative of some length. He had made considerable progress in a monograph of Ulphilas, and he has left behind him a valuable manuscript, in which he had worked up his materials somewhat fully; yet, perhaps, requiring to be recast and rewritten. Wherever he went, — to Scotland or to Clermont, — with the prospect of a spare moment, he carried it with him; adding to the materials out of which he was perfecting it, though unable from want of leisure to remould and rewrite it. He hoped in his retirement at Buisson to do something towards its completiou, and he had brought with him this labour of love, — so often revised, so often turned over, so often corrected, so often fondly handled, to that place, thinking that he might do something towards its completion. For during his five years of work in Paris he rarely found it possible to touch it. He had so far used it that it furnished him with materials for some lectures which he delivered, not only before he left home, but in Paris. But as to remoulding it
H or rewriting it, that was impossible, unless some months of leisure should turn up, which he could hardly look for. In this his self-denial came out strongly. As the man of letters he would gladly have thrown himself upon that history, to which he had so fondly devoted years of study, and finished it. But, as the missionary to the ouvriers of France, he had other work to do. He must let XJlphilas alone. He must let Gothic and Sanscrit stand by. The urgent work before him was to preach the Gospel to the Parisian poor night after night. To that all literature was a secondary thing. The history of the old Gothic translator could wait, but the Gospel could not. The story of the Cappadocian captive and his missionary work was marvellously interesting and romantic, but the story of the great Redemption was a thing of far higher necessity. It did not matter much to the poor dwellers in Eue St. Honore, or Gare d’lvry, or Gros Caillou, or Batignolles, or Grenelle, what the Gothic version of Scripture was worth, or what was the exact nature of the translator’s Arianism; but it mattered everything to them to hear without delay and with a most earnest voice, the tidings of eternal life through Him who died and rose again. Ulphilas must be locked up in the meantime; the Codex Argenteus must lie peaceably in the Upsala University Library; and the literary materials lie upon the shelf till he could spare time from preaching the Gospel to take up once more his beloved work, so eagerly entered on and so devotedly carried out in his peaceful Edinburgh hours. The prospect of a little leisure in September, 1882, was soon and sorrowfully ended. It was but a glimpse; no more. He had thought to resume his Gothic studies in that September in which he lay upon his death-bed. But the wished-for resumption was denied him. He retired into solitude not to study, but to find at Buisson the gate of heaven. At his death the well-thumbed MS. was found on his table, — untouched. A strange relic it is of studious industry. It ought not to lie on the shelf. It is so far complete, and very valuable. But there are few who could undertake the labour and research necessary to perfect it, and fewer who could throw themselves into the subject with such enthusiasm, or to whom Ulphilas could be what he had been to him, — the companion and comfort of many a morning and evening hour.
These Gothic studies had been, during his Edinburgh sojourn, a source of intense pleasure. Though he did not allow them to interfere with his class-work, they seemed to be uppermost in his thoughts. From the time of our first acquaintance in 1873 I saw this. For, as I happened to possess some lOO Memoir of Rev, G. T, Dodds,
materials which he needed upon the subject, several of his visits to me were specially to get the use of these, and thus I knew all along the bent of his mind, as well as the progress he was making. And before he left for Paris he delivered an admirable lecture upon the subject in the hall of my Church, — brief, comprehensive, interesting. For even in these his student-days he made a capital lecturer. He could state his facts and draw his conclusions in a most clear and orderly manner; nothing high-flown or juvenile, but everything compact and well-put, the produce of minute study and ripe judgment.
Few things gave him greater pleasure than to communicate to his friends (as he did often to myself when he came to consult my Gothic dictionary with its curious Ulphilane fragments) his philological discoveries in the Gothic language, and the frequent light shed upon passages of Scripture from these discoveries. He could not clear him of Arianism, but he was fain to minimise it or excuse it. The “Little Wolf” (Wulfilas=i:Ulphilas) had become quite a friend. He wrote an essay on the man and his work for Professor Rainy, to which a prize was awarded. This he afterwards extended and offered to a London publisher. The offer was accepted, and he set to work upon it to perfect it. For on such almost unbroken ground he wished to be exact and
Student’s Life in Edinburgh. loi
full; and he delayed the completion for the purpose of making more extensive research. Tomes of intricate German were waded through, and the results carefully chronicled. But before they were reduced to order his Paris work (as we have seen) began.
Through the various metaphysical and philosophical discussions of the day, he made his way most manfully. He read on all sides, and knew all arguments ‘pro and con. He faced all difficulties, and weighed the statements of an antagonist as honestly as those of a friend. He had ripely made up his mind upon the chief theories afloat; and it was easy to see in conversation how aptly he had laid bold of all their points, whether strong or weak. For some declamatory philosophers he had little patience, but for the calm reasoner, on whatever side, he had sincere respect. Alive to the folly of dogmatism, he was not always disposed to speak gently of those who seemed to think every one wrong but themselves.* He learned, even in these college
* Philosophical storms are not uncommon in universities. Here is the description of a German professorial battle: — “It is said that the Ministerium wish to send Professor Hengstenberg to Bonn, or force him to relinquish the Kirchen-Zeitung. It seems as if a storm was brewing. The Ministerium censured the Theological Facultyrespecting the petition of the students, and particularly Neander. The Hegelians are working strongly against the Evangelical party. Marheineke had the amazing presumption to say to Neander, in a meeting of the Senatus Academicus,” Thou ignorant man, you are days, to lay some stress on style; and his own, down to the very last, was remarkably direct and perspicuous. He never squandered words, nor lost himself in a labyrinth of sentences or parenthetical clauses. He said what he wished to say, and was done; he wrote what he intended to write, and came to an end. It was the same afterwards with his prayers, sermons, and addresses. His mind was well disciplined and well ordered, and what he said partook of these qualities.
He had threaded the intricacies of many languages, ancient and modern; and there were few difficult points in connection with their formation, their variations, their affinities, which he had not considered, and on which he could not offer a judgment: a judgment quite modest, yet indicating careful consideration and study. His hints thrown out in conversation on the etymologies of words were those of a scholar: of one who had not merely mastered the conclusions of others, but who had thought out all for himself In these discussions he was never chargeable with onesidedness; and there was always willingness to hear what could be
unworthy that I should answer you.” “Happily,” replied Neander, “you are not my judge.” When some person present exclaimed at Marheineke’s conduct, asking how he could call one of the most learned men in Germany an ignoramus, he answered, “He knows nothing of philosophy,” i.e., Hegel’s system. advanced against his views. Whilst deferential to those on whose judgment he could confide, he was quite decided in his own conclusions, and was prepared to give well thought-out reasons for them. His study of Sanskrit had opened up a wide field to him, and enabled him to trace out links otherwise invisible, as well as to bring out the shades of significance in words which only one who could bring these links together could observe.
The theological questions of the day he took up honestly and calmly. In the Theological Society he showed his mastery of them. In conversation he evinced the same. His sermons, though completely uncontroversial, gave the results of thought and critical investigation. He learned at this time the necessity of studying on all sides every subject on which he was to preach; and of sifting out the meaning of each word with the original before him. Though an attentive and respectful student, he was not easily satisfied with prelections from the chair. He had a very high standard of professorial accomplishments and character. His own studious habits had taught him what a teacher should be. He aimed high himself, and he expected others to do the same. Each year was to himself a year of rising, and he expected it to be the same with others. Stagnation in study was to him intolerable. “Stereotype” in chair or pulpit seemed inconsistent with mental or spiritual progress. With the profoundest of all profound books before him, how could either minister or professor fail to rise? The excelsior of the student was to begin with the excelsior of the professor. The power of the professor’s chair for good to the student, both as to piety and learning, seemed to him illimitable. It was a power which went over the whole of a student’s life. The spirit of his teacher should be such as to haunt the pupil to the last: like an attendant angel.
Here I cannot refrain quoting a sentence from Dr. Hodge’s historical sermon at the reopening of the Chapel, in 1874. His description of the Princeton professors is a striking one: —
“They were, in the first place, eminently holy men. They exerted that indescribable but powerful influence which always emanates from those who live near to God. Their piety was uniform and serene; without any taint of enthusiasm or fanaticism. It was also Biblical. Christ was as prominent in their religious experience, in their preaching, and in their writings as He is in the Bible. Christ’s person, His glory, His righteousness, His love, His presence, His power, filled the whole sphere of their religious life. When men enter a Roman Catholic church, they see before them a wooden image of Christ extended upon a cross. To this lifeless image they bow. When students entered this Seminary, when its first professors were alive, they had held up before them the image of Christ, not graven by art or man’s device, but as portrayed by the Spirit on the pages of God’s Word; and it is by beholding that image that men are transformed into its likeness from glory to glory. It is, in large measure, to this constant holding up of Christ, in the glory of His person and the all-sufficiency of His work, that the hallowed influence of the fathers of this Seminary is to be attributed....
“There are theologians who exhort men to think for themselves, and to receive nothing on authority;... and others who crave after novelty and aspire after originality;... and others who have a philosophical disposition.
“It pleased God that the first professors in this Seminary should belong to neither of these classes. They exhorted their students to be humble rather than high-minded. They had no fondness for new doctrines, or for new ways of presenting old ones; and they dreaded the thought of transferring the ground of faith from the rock of God’s Word to metaphysical quicksands. For this reason Princeton Theological Seminary was regarded by the illuminati in every part of the land as very umbrageous, impenetrable to any ray of new light. This did not move the men of whom we speak. They had heard Christ say of certain men, that the light that is in them is darkness. And knowing that man is blind as to the things of God, they thought it safer to submit to be guided by a divine hand, rather than, with darkness within and darkness without, to stumble on they knew not whither.
“As to the method of instruction adopted by our first professors little need be said. They both used text-books where they could be had. Dr. Alexander’s text-book in theology was Turrettin’s ‘Theologia Elenchtica,’ one of the most perspicuous books ever written. In the discussion of every subject it begins with the Status Qucestionis, stating that the question is not this or that; neither this nor that, until every foreign element is eliminated, and then the precise point in hand is laid down with unmistakable precision. Then follow in distinct paragraphs, numbered one, two, three, and so on, the arguments in its support. Then come the FonUs Sohdionum, or answers to objections. The first objection is stated with the answer; then the second, and so on to the end. Dr. Alexander was accustomed to give us from twenty to forty quarto pages, in Latin, to read for a recitation. And we did read them. When we came to recite, the professor would place the book before him and ask, What is the state of the question? What is the first argument? What is the second? &c. Then what is the first objection and its answer? What the second? &c. There were some of my class-mates, — Dr. Johns, the present bishop of the Episcopal Church in Virginia, for example, — who would day after day be able to give the state of the question, all the arguments in its support in their order, all the objections and the answers to them, through the whole thirty or forty pages, without the professor saying a word to him. This is what, in the College of New Jersey, used to be called rowling. Whatever may be thought of this method of instruction, it was certainly effective. A man who had passed through that drill never got over it. Some years ago I heard the late Bishop M’llvaine preach a very orthodox sermon in the Episcopal church in this place. When we got home, it being a very warm day, he threw himself on the bed to rest. In the course of conversation he happened to remark that a certain professor failed to make any mark on the minds of his students. I said to him, ‘Old Turrettin, it seems, has left his mark on your mind.’ He sprang from the bed, exclaiming, ‘That, indeed, he has; and I would give anything to see his theology translated and made the text-book in all our Seminaries.’ The Jesuits are wise in their generation, and they have adopted this method of instruction in their institutions.”
To this I add Professor Wakefield’s description of Dr. Hodge’s way of exegetical teaching: — “He taught exegesis only to the juniors, and although five years have elapsed, the impressions made at that time remain as vivid as though it were yesterday. His very mode of entering the room was characteristic. Infirm as he was, he was not bent by extreme age or infirmity; his carriage was erect and graceful, and his step always firm. The mantle that hung from his shoulders during the cooler months heightened the efi’ect of graceful movement. I well remember that when he stepped into the aisle of the First Church to welcome Drs. Dorner and Christlieb on their visit to Princeton, in the autumn of 1873, 1 thought I had never witnessed a finer spectacle of strength and grace combined. And yet it was but an example of his ordinary bearing; he gave me the same impression every time he entered the recitation room. After his always strikingly appropriate opening prayer had been oS’ered, and we had been settled back into our seats, he would open his well-thumbed Greek Testament — on which it was plain that there was not a single marginal note, — look at the passage for a second, and then, throwing his head back, and closing his eyes, begin his exposition. He scarcely again glanced at the Testament during the hour, the text was evidently before his mind, verbally, and the matter of his exposition thoroughly at his command. In an unbroken stream it flowed from subject to subject, simple, clear, cogent, unfailingly reverent. Now and then he would pause a moment to insert an illustrative anecdote — now and then lean forward suddenly with tearful, wide-open eyes, to press home a quickrisen inference of the love of God to lost sinners. But the web of his discourse — for a discourse it really was — was calm, critical, and argumentative. We were expected to take notes upon it and recite on them at our next meeting.”
Mr. Doclds went expectingly to his classes, — with prayer. He returned home to digest, and to pray over what he had learned. Progress in what he undertook was his aim. He did not lounge over his studies; nor treat lightly a solemn subject. Even then he realised in some measure the eternal consequences dependent on the acceptance or rejection of truth. It was trutk that he sought, and he rested not till he found it. Neither mind nor conscience would be satisfied till he had grasped it. It was not an abstraction that he sought; it was doctrine such as he could build on for eternity, doctrine for which he could clearly claim the authority of God in His Word.
The spirit of the age is twofold. On the one hand it tries to materialise religion, and on the other to evaporate Christianity into a mediaeval myth. The treatment of Scripture by Ritualism and by Rationalism respectively, represents the evolutions of this spirit. Thus, man will make his own God, build his own temple, and construct his own ritual.
This dual form of unbelief, reducing all revelation to an uncertainty or a falsehood, underlies the controversies of our day; and students such as Mr. Dodds, getting below the surface of logical discussion, have learned how much depends on true teaching, not merely as to certain superficial points, which may not be difiicult either to argue or to settle, but as to the roots out of which all these controversies have sprung.
As he atudied languages, so did he study theology. The ramifications both of truth and error must be thoroughly sought out. The connection of modern departures from Bible integrity, with the restless or disbelieving spirit of the day, both outside the Church and in it, must be ascertained. The true meaning of modern free-thinking, or independence of thought, must be searched out. The extreme desire (first exhibited some forty years ago in Maurice’s “Religions of the World”) to prove the great amount of truth that there is in all falsehood; to show that the difference between a false and a true religion is merely one of degree, and that there is substantial and venerable truth, as well as beauty and grandeur, underlying all idolatry and superstition, must be sifted and exposed, — held up to view in the light of the one revelation of God to man. This admiration of unbelief, this unsettlement of faith, this reduction of the Bible to an uncertainty, this levelling up of Paganism, this levelling down of Christianity, this erasing of landmarks, this minimising of error, — what do they all amount to, — these were the real questions, lying deep underneath the apparent ones, which met the ear and eye of the thoughtful student. The subtile complexities of unbelief, with their wide and invisible ramification?, were coming up on every side, demanding the most rigid consideration. A true student is compelled to no Memoir of Rev. G. T. Dodds.
confront these, both for his own stability and for his future power as a minister of the one true Gospel, — the defender and expounder of the one true Book.
Into the various Biblical questions of the time Mr. Dodds entered fully; and no less into the cognate theological discussions. That his own faith had ever at any time been shaken I have no reason to believe; but that he had gone into these controversies with fear and trembling, I have as little reason to doubt. He did not waver, but he wanted to make assurance doubly sure; and he turned over all modern difficulties in his own mind most carefully and conscientiously.
He came a grood deal into contact with what is called “the culture of modern thought;” and being himself “cultured” above most, he was able to understand and estimate the assumed superiority of mind and accomplishments to which that designation has been attached. Thus he writes of it: —
“Wth. April, 1875. — Culture is so much veneering, beautiful polish, superinduced qualities — and it makes a man with a bad heart look as good as one with a good one. There are bad men
and good men among the culturists. If only were face to
face with the sternness of life, and saw its awful side more; for culture hides that, and shrinks from human misery, and shuts itself up in its theories. It wants the laying bare of the evil of the heart — the fall of man — and so the discovery that man is incomplete in himself, and can only be made complete out of himself, in Christ.”
Studenfs Life in Edinburgh. 1 1 1
He sometimes spoke to me of the supercilious way in which the adherents of old doctrine were treated. He complained too of the intolerance displayed by some who called themselves liberal and broad He mentioned several occasions on which sneers had taken the place of argument in debate; in which the advanced school had laid exclusive claim to independent thought and impartial research. But he was not shaken; and he had reason to know that some of those who, as students, were thus illiberal toward ancient creeds, became afterwards thoroughly settled in the faith. Towards those fellow-students who thus differed from him he showed no resentment. In after days, when he heard that any of them had carried out their liberal views into open unbelief, he expressed the deepest sorrow. He had reached the one Rock himself, and his desire was that all with whom he had associated might attain to the same light and peace; for he cherished old friendships most tenaciously, and delighted to talk over the companionships of college days. He had had his own mind fully cleared up, and he longed to see all his companions standing in the same sunshine.
The great personal question between him and God as to acceptance and relationship, was slowly but surely cleared up, and every mist rolled away. I wish I could recall our numerous conversations together as we walked together or sat at my fireside. Many an hour was spent in earnest conference on the freeness of the good news, for the preaching of which he was specially training himself; and when I remember the clear, pointed way in which, when telling the tidings to the poor of Paris, whether in addresses or conversations, he proclaimed the free love of God, without a condition or a barrier, I can only rejoice that such hours (often prolonged till midnight) were not spent in vain. The following extract from a letter to me, of date 10th July, 1882, will not be thought out of place as illustrating his way of dealing with the poor and dark: —
“I’ve been visiting instead of having a meeting. Last night we had a very good after-meeting at Grenelle. I had a most interesting conversation with a woman. She is well known to me. She had gone to the hall that night by some irresistible desire to ask how she should be saved. Miss Matheson called me to speak to her in the after-meeting.
“‘I believe in God,’ she said; and then added, * He has always given me what I asked.’
“I said, ‘The devils believe, and yet are afraid.’
“‘What, then, must I do?’ she said.
“‘Have you ever asked the pardon of your sins?’ I said.
“‘No,’ she replied.
“‘That is what you must do,’ I said.
“‘Is that all? ’ she inquired; ’ and will He really pardon me? ’
“I read some verses to prove that what I had said was true, — such passages as that about the woman that was a sinner. We then prayed, and she seemed to get light. But Miss Mathe-Student’s Life iJi Edinburgh. 1 1 3
son followed her to the door, and then she again expressed her astonishment that that was all.
“‘Sauvee! ’ she said; and added, ‘Quel bonheur! ’ “This morning I saw her, and she said, ‘When I left you, I felt an immense burden taken off my breast. I was like a butterfly with wings.’
“I was deeply interested in this aspect of her case. She simply did what I told her God wished her to do — ask forgiveness, and believe that she should receive it.”
Yes; he just bade her to do what he himself had done, and what he was doing every hour; and the good news brought instantaneous light. This touching incident took place just two months before he passed away.
I do not know the exact process through which he passed into spiritual light, further than as it came out indirectly in our conversations. He seemed sometimes to be stating his own difficulties to me, and sometimes those of others. He appeared to me at that time as one pressing into fuller light, and determined to have every doubt dispelled, and every mistake corrected. He was altogether in earnest. But in all his inquiries he showed no misgivings as to the divine accuracy of Scripture. If he ever did entertain the modern doubts as to that accuracy, or lent a favourable ear to recent theories of the imperfection and uncertainty of the books of the Old and New Testaments, he had got beyond all this; for when at times our conversation turned on such discussions, he showed how he had studied and mastered the different points of controversy, and was prepared to take his stand upon the absolute certainty of the revealed Word. Unsettlement as to this, especially on the plea of “free-thinking,” — independence of “traditional criticism” and superiority to “antiquated theology,” — he dreaded. It was the Church lifting her anchor, and deliberately consenting to drift before the wind of modern thought. Without a certain Bible he could not have a certain hope; and in the discussion of “settlement” or “unsettlement” he felt he had a personal interest for eternity; not the interest of a scholar merely, but that of an immortal being. Without inspired words he could not have inspired thoughts; and if neither words nor thoughts were trustworthy or reliable, what was he to do? Which way was he to turn his eye, as one who knew that eternity lay before him, and that his first concern was to make sure of that eternity? Unsettlement in philosophy was no great matter. Unsettlement in philology was comparatively a trifle. Nay, unsettlement in points of theology, within certain limits, might be conceded without alarm. But unsettlement as to that Book which professed to reveal the mind of God, and on which the security of his eternal future was involved, could not be contemplated without dismay.
One of his Parisian converts in after days said, in describing the first steps of his conversion, that he learned that “God counted for something in the world.” So in reference to revelation, the young student had learned that “the Bible counted for something in the world.” His faith in it might be sneered at as iradiiional; but he knew that what is traditional is not necessarily either false or stupid; and that he could give a good reason for the hope that was in him, both logically and critically. He knew also that the use of the word traditional by modern critics was fitted to mislead, and that the Bible, thus stigmatised as traditional, was truly historical, — the Bible of Christ and His apostles, — the Bible of the early Church, — the Bible whose canonicity, as matter of history, rests upon surer evidence than that of any book, ancient or modern.
The canonicity, if I may use the term, of Homer, or Herodotus, or Virgil, or Livy, has not the tenth part of the evidence to lean upon that the Bible has. It does not do for traditional believers in Tacitus or Xenophon to speak superciliously of traditional believers in the Bible. Intuitive criticism can make clever guesses; but historical criticism must be called in to put these guesses to the test. Intuitive criticism has effaced the first ten chapters of Genesis; it will not long hesitate to erase the rest. It has swept the first
Adam away; and it will do the same with the Second. It has deleted Moses from the Old Testament, so that “we wot not what has become of him;” it will next tryits obliterating skill upon the Prophet like unto Moses in the New. Making no provision for reconstruction in any of its efforts, its destructive propensities are fitted to disquiet faith and to inspirit unbelief
Resting his faith on a certainty, — a Divine certainty, — he realised his personal acceptance, in believing that Divine testimony to the Christ of God which he found contained in this Revelation. He did not ask the question, Is it reasonable to think that God would condemn a man for not believing a doctrine, or save him for believing it? He knew that such was the explicit statement of the Son of God Himself: “He that belie veth shall be saved.” This was a sufficient resting-place.
He did not confine himself to theological studies. He read on many subjects, and would have been reckoned “sesthetic” in his habits and tastes. A skilful musician, he could not only use his own voice well, but could play on several instruments. And this musical skill was of great service to him in his Parisian work, in which he was called on sometimes to lead the service by voice or organ.*
* We need expressive singing, and his was such; but in order to the expressive singing of the people there must be the expressive
Stiidenfs Life m Edinbttrgh. ii 7
All his examinations did him high credit; his papers in all the different branches showed his superior attainments. At the close, in competing for the Cunningham Fellowship, he came out third. I saw him immediately after the result, and he mentioned a mental struggle through which he had just passed. His papers were faultless in all but one section, and that he had left blank. He could have answered every one of the questions, but it so happened that they related to a portion of Church history in which he had made for himself a sort of brief technical memory, — marks for names and dates on the boards of his Greek Testament. He found that this artificial memory would have helped him to recall the whole history, and answer all the questions. But he asked himself, Would this be fair? He decided not to answer. I said to him that I thought he had been over-scrupulous, as these few brief marks were mere suggestions for memory, and made with no idea that the questions would take up the points which, along with others, he had happened to mark. “No,” he said, “I could not do it; it was like taking advantage over others.” And then he added solemnly,” I had just risen from my knees to go to that examination, and I had specially asked direction as to
reading of the minister. The want of the latter ia often a very serious drawback, and is more injurious to right singing than many think.
ii8 Me7noir of Rev. G. T, Dodds.
every part of it; and I could not bear the thought of doing anything that might be counted unfair.” He never regretted this step. He had satisfied his conscience; and in a matter which he had considered doubtful he had taken the side against himself. That was enough. His conscience was tender, sometimes morbid, and to this it was that some of his friends ascribed his last exhaustion. He thought he was too much occupied with the externals of the mission, and he tried to make up for this by working the harder at the spiritual part of it, when he should have been resting. He more than once set out on a Saturday evening to visit in the wretched lanes around some of the stations, though he had been working all the week, and expected to preach three or perhaps four times on the morrow.
In 1875, the last of his college years, while yet attending classes, he was appointed missionary to the district of Causewayside, Newington, in connection with the Grange Church. On his work here he entered with great energy and zeal; though it was only temporary, — a preparation for more permanent duty elsewhere.
This home-missionary work was most congenial. Though hitherto more of a secluded student than a visiting missionary,, he threw himself with his whole heart into the work among the poor. Oue thing
Stiidcnfs Life in Edinbttrgh. 1 19
specially noticeable about him at this time was the interest he took in individuals. He was not content with preaching two or three times a-week in our mission-hall, and having classes there; he set himself to seek out the poor, following in the footsteps of his two admirable predecessors, Mr. Murray and Mr. Barnetson. He watched all cases of spiritual concern; visiting them assiduously, instructing carefully; and when the good seed began to spring up, rejoicing heartily. Many in that district remember his kindness and affability to this day. The interest which he took in these special cases came out in his conversations about them afterwards with myself He was like a physician detailing to another the symptoms of a difficult case, and asking advice how to deal with it from those more experienced than himself This anxiety to deal rightly with such inquirers was no less evinced by the way in which he bore them on his heart in constant prayer. His eagerness to follow up impressions, to solve doubts, to meet objections, to instruct ignorance, was characteristic of his whole life. He forgot no one, however poor and wretched; and his patient way of treating them, showed how carefully he had studied each case. He never spoke to such at random, but always with well-chosen words, — having thought out each difficulty for himself.
In August, 1876; he was married to my daughter Mary, and with her went, in the month of September, on a short tour up the Rhine, returning by Paris. His passing visit to that city was to be the link between it and himself, and to determine his great though brief life-work for the ouvriers there.
In arranging as to the marriage, no reservation was made as to his future field of labour; that was to be determined afterwards. With his father he corresponded at great length as to the foreign mission-field, seeking counsel of him; yet not concealing his own decided desire not to remain at home. A missionary in some foreign field he was resolved to be. What might be the sphere most suitable to his gifts and his health remained to be seen. He was totally unbiassed.
Some months after his marriage he had a severe attack of rheumatic fever, which prostrated him for nearly two months, and which, I fear, left traces behind it of evil afterwards; for though he resumed his mission-work in our district, he had to take special care of his health, and watch against a recurrence of the malady.
After completing his missionary engagement in
connection with the Grange congregation, he prepared
to leave for Paris. He had put his hand to the
plough, and he would not draw back.
Stiidenfs Life in Edinburgh, 1 2 1
His student - life in Edinburgh had, notwithstanding some drawbacks of health, gone on well; comfortably and successfully. He had completed his curriculum and was “licensed” as a preacher by the Dundee Presbytery on the 14th of June, 1876.
Life lay before him. He looked into it, or rather he kept it continually before him, in what he did or in what he refrained from doing. Distrustful of his own powers, and perhaps sometimes disposed to be desponding, he held back when he might have taken a more prominent position, and done more conspicuous work. But, if he had possessed more “self-assertion” he might have been led into a different sphere, and would not have done the same kind of work, — work (in the eyes of some) of a very humble kind, and withal arduous and self-denying. He did not seek pre-eminence. He was only desirous of doing well what the Master called him to do. No amount of labour discouraged him; though he sometimes wrote and spoke despondingly about himself College examinations were nervously, perhaps morbidly, dreaded by him, from his persistent underestimate of his own powers. Yet he always came out among the highest in each department.
In July, 1874, he thus writes: —
“I feel myself becoming more of a secular student than is good. I feel particularly persuaded, that for the ministry one needs to make a thorough study of the Bible.” “^
He would fain have pursued his Sanscrit and Gothic studies, but felt that they were encroaching on his ministerial preparations. The “work of the ministry” was in his eyes paramount; and, lest it should be interfered with, he curtailed, — I do not say abandoned, — his philological researches.
In July, 1876, after the removal of examination
burdens and anxieties, he thus writes: —
“I never know how often and how much I ought to thank God for my restored strength. I wish that a song of thanksgiving were ever in my heart and on my lips. I am so different. True, examinations are over, and well over. But I used to fret my conscience about little nothings; and now that is gone, and I am not afraid to pray that my conscience may be quickened with a spirit of holy fear and recollection of duty. This makes me live in and breathe a different atmosphere. This change affects my whole being, and my mind becomes clear and energetic.”
Just before his last examination he had been
indulging in some such anxieties, as the following
extract reveals: —
“lOf Junt 1875. — I have just been looking over my work, and I can tell you it will need more application and steady effort than I thought, and more ability to get it up than I have
* “The Bible is the great text-book for students,” said one. “In my student-days we used also to read Calvin, Gomarus, Maestricht, Ames, Turrettin. These seem to have disappeared. Yet they were giants in theology and criticism.”
Shcdenfs Life 171 Edinbtirgh, 123
got, — that is all true; but I do know, what I could not have said a short time ago, I know that God will carry me through in His own way. That 1 do Tcnow, and I have this much faith in Him, that His way will be best, whatever the result. I know He will help and guide me. My inability to do examinations, and to gain bursaries, are God’s cross given me to bear; very likely it is best for me that I should not win scholarships or stand high in examinations.”
His mental experience comes freely out in his familiar letters. Extracts from these I propose now to throw together. They are of course miscellaneous in their contents; but will not be the less interesting to those who wish to know the writer thoroughly: —
“February, 1875. — During a slight illness he
wrote, ‘Satan back with his darts again. They
wound me, and I wound Christ by my unbelief
I tried to comfort myself with George Herbert’s
lines,
‘Lord, Thou hast lived and died for me.’
but the tempter followed me there, and I could only say, — how often have I said! (Ps. xxxviii. 9) — ‘All my desire is before Thee and my groaning is not hid from Thee.’
“It is the presence, abiding and supporting, of Christ, — the full manifestation of Him as the Light for my darkness, that I desire. I can only cast this burden too on the Lord, and wait in faith to have it rolled away; and I can cast it on Him. But, oh! how I long for more than that, for the perfect reconciliation, the sure tokens of His gracious presence, the support of His loving arms round about, and beneath, and all from above
“Qth April, lS7o. — God is working daily in me, and would work more were I not so hard and resisting. I have been looking back upon some of His past teaching, and some of it seems so clear. This was often my earnest prayer, that instead of the Divine work in my daily and past life seeming obscure and puzzling, that it might be definite and thorough, and that I might know and keep the lessons I had received. I am so thankful that I can now see stone after stone of His heiving and placing laid upon the one foundation. I do not think he intends us to be kept in ignorance of His building. He likes us to see how He works. And He has been working in me both to will and to do. I rejoice to see and know this. When the work is obscure one does not feel so near to Christ. One does not walk with Him. One does not sit in heavenly places together with Him. I have been praying that He would not only manifest Himself to me, but in me more and more. How comforting it is to be shut in within the walls of salvation by Christ, to know the power of His resurrection, and His daily intercession and care for us.”
What he had already known of Divine truth was becoming more and more a reality. He was learning more of himself and more of that heavenly doctrine by which he was to be delivered from himself, and prepared for coming work: —
“28^/i April, 1875. — I have daily cause for daily thanks for so much teaching, so much light, so many solutions of difficulties or dispersion of false perplexities, so much real life with God, and so much sense of the value of Christ and of the daily need of His grace, and of His own personal preciousness, and also a growing fear of backsliding, and sense of sin. All these I have been blessed with so thickly more or less during these past weeks.”
“1st May, 1875. — God’s teaching is so sure, and real, and precious to me now that I doubt not but that He will teach me all things I need, and fire me with zeal to serve Him constantly, and faithfully, and successfully.
“I am sure I do see the evil of encouraging or fondling that habit of allowing oneself to entertain doubts; my daily prayer is that I may not doubt or limit Christ’s love to myself, and especially to all men. I have had so much of it lately, so gracious a sense of His love, that I do not doubt; but the Evil One comes and suggests doubts about others — nations, people living in ignorance, — but I think what we have to learn is to believe on God’s bare word; and why should I not get this? Christ is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and if He not only shows truth but is it Himself, then He must be true in all His purposes concerning salvation. I must keep fast hold of this; but would that it were so firmly mine that I had no shadow of a doubt. I came on a good saying the other day: ‘A man in perplexity may be able to keep his belief, but he cannot impart it to others.’ That thought has been in my mind for ever so long, but could not get out, and here it is. How true! It is only when I have a firm hold of God’s truth myself that I can impart it to others. The want of this is the cause of weak preaching. I put it once aphoristically thus: ‘Kestlessness (engendered as it is by doubt) has no resistlessness; but faith has it alone and always.’
“I should like to ask, How far do you think speculation is necessary, nay 23?’Oj9er, in regard to truths that are revealed, and can only be known by revelation?”
“th, April, 1875. — Intolerable as it is to me just
Studenfs Life m Edinburgh. 127
now, how much more intolerable and evil will it be if I begin work in June, not having a firm grasp of the truths I speak of, but lamely holding them. One thing I am being taught to say: ‘Lord, I believe, help Thou my unbelief,’ — that is Christ, outside, /or me, making belief in me.”
Sailing from London to Dundee he gives vent to his feelings in a paragraph which I shall quote at length; and I may preface it with saying that his state of feeling during these student years is not a little remarkable for its intensity and reverential awe. He was to be, not an orator, not a logician, not a leader in Church Courts, but an ambassador for Christ. He knew it; and he acted under the impression of coming responsibilities. The duties before him were grave and solemn, — not worldly, but unworldly; and they threw their deep (not dark) shadow over him; at times, perhaps, leading him to be severe upon those who came short of his standard. He felt called to a higher kind of Christianity than many around him seemed to realise: and he could not but be in- earnest. Anything short of this would belie his profession, and cast a doubt upon his sincerity. It was the future minister of Christ that was now being moulded. His future usefulness, in whatever place he might be called to labour, would depend very much upon his earlier religious progress: —
“3rcZ June, 1875, steamship Hihernia (London to Dundee). — I have had a long time of prayer and thought in my cabin this morning. I was praying for light. I have so great a desire to see everything clearly, to have God’s truth in Christ, in its bare aspects and exact meaning made mine. I had such a lesson in 1 Cor. i. about the “wisdom of the world.” I saw how little could my intellect comprehend God’s plan and truth. Again and again does the devil come back with his cavils, and seek to remove me from my rest. I knoiu he cannot do that. But, oh! to know even more than that; and I think I got it in ‘Christ, the Power of God and the Wisdom of God,’ — the Power because able and willing to save; the Wisdom, as one who knows best all that is good for me, and who will teach me the way of truth. I know that I have delihersitelj chosen the way of truth, and I will rest in this choice; and yet I cannot help thinking that for me — it may not be necessary for all — there is a further teaching, and my whole nature, heart, and soul, and mind, yearns to know the why of God’s proceedings. I do pray that if this is God’s will He may teach me it; if not, banish it utterly. For instance, gladly, knowingly, do I take refuge in Christ as my Saviour, yet this morning, when the
Student’s Life in Edinbtcrgh. 129
devil said, and my own heart took up the doubt, ‘How can you see the use of the blood to cleanse? ‘I just prayed, ‘Lord, by Thy blood shed for sin, show me the use of the blood and its power to take away this doubt, — use as an antidote the very thing I have doubt about.’ And what a comforting glimpse I had, in the words that came to me: ‘The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin.’ I am content to rest in that alone until God shows me more, but I pray with my whole heart against the return of these doubts. I fear them, — I hate them, — T know that they are sin; but surely there is something else than resting in a mere glimpse. I wish to see the fair sphere of Christ’s truth in its perfect completeness, so satisfying, so excluding everything else, that there shall not be room in my heart, nor power in the devil’s suggestions to make me doubt.
“I may rest upon what God has taught; but, when these doubts prevail, I cannot use what I rest upon as a weapon to defend and attack for Christ in behalf of other men.
“Did you ever watch a sunrise and see the time before the sun’s appearance? I have watched the landscape dim and undefined, and mingled together, and then seen the sun rise and touch with light so gentle and so lovely the ridges of the hills, and the prominent points of the whole scene. This is like the rising of Christ the Light upon His great salvation, which we have been contemplating in the dark. Then all the prominent truths are made clear, — His life, His death, His ascension. His present intercession. But none the less does His light penetrate the valleys and the dark recesses where night still lingers; and is it not true that in the valleys grow the fairest flowers, and flow the freshest and coolest waters? All may not care to go down there, — they may like the mountain-top, or the sunny plains of the hill-side, and others may be content to take the water, and look at the flowers that have been brought up with toil and anxious search by those who have descended. Now I know the facts of Christ’s life and death and ascension to be mine, but I still think, from all God’s dealings with me, and from my own mental constitution, that God’s plan in letting me still seek for further light is that He may lead me in His own way into these valleys, that thence I may look up with still more wondering love, having found the greatness of the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of Christ, and say, ‘Thy righteousness is like the great mountains; Thy judgments are a great deep.’ I can so
well understand ’s trouble about speculation. It
is necessary to some minds, but it is none the less true that the first duty, — the duty, is to get one’s heart right with God, to believe on Christ as His Saviour, and then, with God’s leave, and if with His leave, with the Spirit’s help, to search the valleys.”
*Jth June, 1875. — “I am so thankful that, bit by bit, in His own way, my Father is putting out my spiritual enemies, and solving all my perplexities. If only all young men would try this plan of carrying each doubt, — each perplexity to Hhn, and leave it there each day until it is taken away, how many faithful Christians should we have instead of the doubting and wavering ones?”
He was now educating for his special work, though unconscious of it. He was being taught the lessons that would make him strong to “attack or defend” when confronted with the doubters of France. It was in this training-school that he learned what I may call missionary wisdom. His skill in “turning the flank” of the Atheist or the Romanist or the scoffer, in after days, was learned now. His own mental exercises and spiritual conflicts prepared him for meeting the doubter, not with logic or argument, but with the weapons with which he himself had fought his way to truth and light. To know “the deep things of God” was a frequent prayer with him. Some of the lessons which he was now acquiring in various ways served him afterwards in France, where often the mind is so ignorant, so stuffed with error, so untrained to observe its own workings or define its own beliefs, that often he used to say, “I do not see how the Spirit can work in a soul in the midst of such error; and yet I see that somehow or other He does work.”
21st September, 1875. — “I am being led into a new region altogether, where one sees the deep things of God’s salvation. I do pray that I may be kept humble.”
Writing from England of one to whom a “simply believed” Gospel had brought peace, he says: —
6th April, 1875. —” She seems to have simply believed; doubt never seems to have troubled her. You know those kind of people, — they are not Scotch in their type of character; they are not introspective. They believe, and stop there. They rest in the faith, and somehow the reasons of that faith, which, to us Scotch people, are to be proved even after believing, never need solution to them. One never knows what these sort of Christians know and what they do not know. The Church here does so little for them; and they merely seem to have a heart knowledge of the one great fact of Redemption through Christ, and never to get further; but they seem to hold all the more tenaciously to that one thing, like the limpet holding to the rock and that alone.
Sttidenfs Life in Edinbzirgk. 133
“I do not think, however, that such Christians are to be desired in our day. More knowledge of the hearings of Christianity, its living power to touch and mould all life, its reasonableness, seem to be needed. But I must not begin to speak against some of God’s people.”
22nd April, 1875. — “How I do hate these High
Church doctrines that stand between a man and
Christ; and how I feel for those High Church people
who are under their influence.”
19th April, 1875. — “We were talking last night on the answer to prayer as a thing of Christian experience. One who speaks thus is a true Christian, and yet what would I give to know that the ideas of church power and sacramental grace were less in the way of the grasp which one should have on the Gospel of Christ! But I learn a lesson this way from conversing with one who differs slightly from me, that it is by Faith a man lives his Christian life. His experimental religion is the real thing. God accepts our faith, however little, however imperfect, and it is there. We cannot tell the workings of God in the heart, even of our most intimate friend, each one is left with God in that matter.”
Qth August, 1876. — “I have been learning many lessons. I have got to see the hatefulness of sin, and God’s purity, His holiness and my defilement; how terrible and vile is our state of enmity, and our unbelief how strong and yet how unjust. And I have been shown wonderfully clearly what “mercy is. In studying the publican’s prayer, I have had such glimpses of the meaning of “mercy, of how suitable it is to man, how needful. I have felt what a glad sound this word mercy has, how it rejoices the weary heart, how, when every other plea fails this stands secure and undiminished. Our sanctification is His will. His tuill, — so strong a will, — makes us strong. His will, so Divine, so wise, so constraining, how comforting that it is His, and that it ifor us!”
Keferring to a case that had been brought under his notice, he thus writes: —
1st February, 1875. — “My whole soul goes out in deepest sympathy and anxiety for such a man.... I know the modern ideas of the school that wishes to make religion a cultured and sesthetical thing, — a revival, as it were, of the Platonic doctrine of the Harmony of all the faculties of man. There is no doubt that refined natures and sensitive minds cannot help striving after that; a vain pursuit it seems to me, as long as they begin with afiirming culture and its necessity, forgetting that there is one thing needful, which is lacking to all such attempts, which are wholly human in their origin, while Religion is a Divine (and yet human) thing — and must exist as a Divine thing — a thing per se — like to which there is nothing else; and therefore, because of its unlikeness, it is to be treated from the very outset as a subject of study which is not subject to the same canons and tests as others.
“I had a time of like ideas too; only, that I never was adrift from my early beliefs. It is difficult to get words to describe such a state of mind, for the confusion between culture and religion is so great, that that of itself prevents the correct description. I know that I clung with all the more passionate earnestness to the truths I had been taught when young, and only thought of making the one a help to the other. Evangelical truths had got so ingrained in my mind that I hated the very thought of dispensing with them. It came about with me from reading Ruskin; I used to read nothing else, I went through his ‘Modern Painters, his * Stones of Venice,’ his ‘Seven Lamps,’ and all his minor works. The beauty and depth of his thoughts entranced me; and I never dreamt that he was not a Christian, and a religious one. I do not know very well just what he believes; but I can see now, most clearly, that one might read and admire and assiTYiilate all his teaching, and the heart be as sinful as ever, — as offensive to God in its thoughts and ways, as if it had been coarse and impure and positively wicked, and consciously doing the work of the Evil One. I find that the reading of such works, and the encouragement of such tendencies, in all ages, has not prevented sin; and herein lies the difference between Culture and Religion, that the first has for its object to cultivate “culture” and delicacy of perception; but that the Bible, — the handbook of Religion, — has for its object to convince of sin as the first and most necessary thing, and that to the critical and suspicious attitude of a man of culture it opposes the necessity of humility and obedience, and Faith as the starting point of all (let us use the culturist’s word), harmony of our nature. Culture comes without any authoritative demand; does not come as a Judge, or Lord, or Convicter; does not say that we are rebels against its rule, or that we hate it, or that we need a Mediator to help us to the attainment of the restoration of our nature; but the Bible comes bearing and assuming both authority of position and character, commanding because of its power, persuading because of its character; it addresses us as rebels, as haters of its words, as alienated, except we accept its appointed means of reconciliation. And it comes, not granting liberty to
Student’s Life in Ecihibiugh. 137
us to construct our system and then to test it by our construction, but, saying that it is the tuIq of morals and religion. I wonder how many men, who have set out to construct a system, even from the smallest assumption, found that it was only stubble and rottenness, when they were convinced of their lost estate and their absolute need of a Redeemer. I do not mean to say that men do not learn from their former experience; that cannot but be, because as Dr. Duncan says, ‘There is no whole lie but the sceptic’s, and even that is not wholly a lie; ’ and so in culture (for man cannot live without truth), there is an element of truth which remains and may be useful afterwards, but then only as reconciled through the presence of religion and its acknowledged supremacy. It is not religion which is an enemy of culture, it is culture and aesthetics which are enemies of and neutral to religion. Religion is never neutral, and its very non-neutrality makes it impossible that even after all, culture can be neutral very long.
“I wish I could see to talk with him on the
relations of Faith, and Reason, and Truth. I am fond of putting the matter this way.
“Faith is always reasonable; it contains all that is reasonable. But Reason is often unfaithful; it has lost the very first principle of its nature, that is
Truth; and the very proneness or habit of Reason to be false in its processes — (1) Is a direct proof that man cannot construct a system out of the Bible or any other source; (2) that for that very reason he needs a system constructed for him, and which to be acceptable must be Divine, and which to be useful must be accepted as Divine.
“The account of man’s fall is a proof of this. Adam’s reason was faithful to God, and had for its first principle, Truth. The devil, a liar from the beginning, gained his point by falsifying Reason; he assaulted it by destroying its foundation on Truth. Reason’s duty was to believe, but he taught it to suspect God’s goodness, and the first step was a fall, and that fall was brought about by man trying to construct a system for himself; and that system, even at that early time, was not so very unlike the system of the culturist of the present day. Culture keeps a man from coming near to God; it is hard but beautiful enamel put over the heart to prevent it softening to the touch of God.
“No man can construct a system, even on partial truth; it never has been done and never will. The first duty of every man is to inquire, how am I what I am; how am I to account for my yearnings for perfection and holiness, and how am I to account for my inability to reach these; and above all, how am
Sttidenfs Life iii Edinburgh. 139
I to account for the strange fact of experience, that when I would do good evil is present within me. No man can get rid of this, and no man can get rid of the other question of a hereafter. These are questions only to be settled in one way — before God in prayer. Doubt is dishonest when it cannot take its troubles to God; the promise is sure that if we come we shall not be sent away empty. All our questionings are to be solved by God, and I quite understand, nay I believe, that a man would do right if he left off critical questions, such as alleged discrepancies in the Gospels, and even such a question as the Atonement, and go with them unsettled to God’s Throne, a Throne of Grace; and never cease to pray until they were settled and the way shown. And what a way! Not I shoiu the way, but ‘I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.’”
He looked forward with fear to his ministerial work; conscious of unfitness for so great a service as “the ministry of the reconciliation.” He had high thoughts of what a minister of Christ should be, and of what his preaching should be. The plain, direct delivery of the message of love was what he aimed at. To wreathe the sword of the Spirit with flowers, whether intellectual or oratorical, was only to blunt its edge. Not the wisdom of this world; not florid declamation; not artificial verbiage making the hearers wonder, but hiding the cross of Christ; not these did he seek. He was resolved to go straight to the mark, for he knew that his message was to tell for eternity upon immortal souls. The best of human philosophy was not to be compared with “the foolishness of preaching.” It might secure fame to the preacher here, and render him noted for his talents; but it would not add to the weight of his crown, nor win back the wanderer to the fold. What a mistake some of our young men are making just now in their estimate of the true nature and object of the ministry! Truly said Kichard Hooker, “be careful to build and edify first yourselves and then your flocks in this most holy faith. He that would set on fire the heart of other men with the love of Christ, must himself burn with love.”
“What a world,” he remarked, “one human soul has opened up to my view.” Keferring to some interviews he had with the spiritually anxious, he says: “It makes preaching a different thing to me altogether, and opens up to me so much that was sealed before.” He used, even to the last, to lament his want of experience; but it was remarkable how his words went to the heart of some in the depths of sorrow, sorrow such as he had never passed through himself. “I have often wondered,” says one, “how he learned that deep sympathy. I believe it came from his habit of putting himself in the hand of the Spirit for every word; and from his way of learning something from every little circumstance.” His was no circuitous or ambiguous gospel. Hence the poorest understood him, and yet none were offended. Thus, he writes of himself: —
th March, 1875. — “You little know how unable I feel, owing to my habits of study, to speak of the Gospel offer clearly, and to men’s hearts. I tremble to come out next year, if I have not had some experience of human nature, — otherwise than in books. We had two inquirers after the Sunday-evening meeting (Grange Church), and I spoke to them both. It was the first time I ever spoke to inquirers at a meeting, and I felt very unfit, but I think God blessed my words about trusting to Christ, not feelings, as I had come through all that myself”
10th June, 1875. — “In some respects preaching does not look so hard. I do like it, in spite of all my nervousness and my fear of going into a pulpit. But the brain- work of writing two sermons a-week is a thing I never think of if I cau help it. It is true that my mental strength has come back to a degree I never expected, and that the blessed experiences
I have been going through all furnish groundwork for preaching, and helping people on the right way. But as one’s mind grows, the ideal grows also, and the nearer one comes to the real work, the more does it require all your ideal to realise it. I am sure I do take courage again and again from all the grace that has been given to me, so undeserving of it.”
nd September, 1875. — “I have not known a night’s sleep for more than a week now (from neuralgia), but it has been for my good. I spoke to the people at the prayer meeting last night on ‘Come unto Me all ye that labour,’ &c., and, I think, I never spoke so practically before, because I felt that this gift of rest was so true, even in affliction and trouble, and little vexations like mine. I showed them that the rest was not rest from work, but in work, — not from trouble, but in trouble. These three weeks I have lost time terribly. I am not strong, I never felt so thoroughly tired; but I can thank Him for it, and see a Father’s hand in it all.”
2lst September, 1875. — “If older Christians would only have a little patience with student-preachers, who have never had any opportunity to see the Spirit working in men’s hearts, and by their words; and so cannot preach experimentally or to suit men’s char-Stttdeiifs Life in Edinburgh. 143
acters, inasmuch as they have never studied them except at second-hand! I have been told to preach experimentally, when the direction had no more meaning to me than a language I did not understand. I am glad we are in God’s hands to teach us these things Himself, and in His time and way; it is more precious and better, though I wish to learn by all the help He may send. Indeed, I feel all the time how deficient my preaching is, — how I lack that ‘personal acquaintance with human hearts which utilises what. you may have thought over, and reasoned out by long processes, which in fact fertilises the abstract conceptions and makes them practical.”
2Qth July, 1875. — “I have felt so disheartened in my visiting, that day after day I am tempted to fly from the door after I have rung the bell. I wish I were a little bolder, a little readier to speak for Christ. I am such a moral coward in attacking people, that I sometimes feel as if the feeling would never go away.”
I occupy the rest of this chapter with some fragments of miscellaneous letters, written about this time. They bring out his intense love of nature and his observant eye: —
Lesnewth, Devonshire, April and May, 1875. —” I’ve seen such an affecting sight while fishing.
A sheep had tried to cross the brook, and got entangled in the thorns, and fallen; and, unable to rise or move, had been drowned. And its lamb was sitting, or rather lying, there peacefully beside its dead mother, the very picture of patient waiting. It was both beautiful and sad. This is a very primitive country, so wild and open, the people simple and quiet.
“The lanes here are stuffed with Adiantumnigrum (maiden hair), — a lovely green it has just now, — and Trichomanes. The earth is raised up high, and faced with stones laid thus — /^ /^ /^; and one wall of this kind had a Trichomanes in every chink. The whole country is coloured just now with yellow gorse, and ivy trailing down among it.”
Llanteglos, near Camelford. —” How I do love these grey old buildings, so quiet and venerable, with their mossy churchyards and crumbling gravestones. There was in the windows some very old stained glass, and part of the church was of Norman architecture, the arch over the transept being peculiarly so. I was above all things delighted with three old crosses, some found in the neighbourhood and taken care of They are of granite, and venerable with age, — two of them more than a thousand years old. One had an inscription in
Shcdenfs Life in Edinburgh. 145
Saxon, but very much obscured, though, it seems, it has been made out. I had not time to follow out my propensity to read the letters.
“I looked for ferns, and found ever so many old friends. I know nothing more curious and yet more beautiful than the unfolding of their curled scaly fronds. I came upon the Scented-fern, the Mountain Buckler, and then, to my great delight, I found the Hay-scented fern. I had often seen it, and bought it, and grown it at home, but never found it before. I brought away the plants. They are so small that I shall send them home.”
%ik July, 1875. — To his Brother. — “Philip enclosed a specimen of Drosera rotundifolia, or ‘Sundew.’ I do not know if you ever saw it. I found it at St. Mary’s, — a curious marsh plant, with tentacles on its leaves, tipped with a viscid secretion, so sticky that if an unlucky fly alights on them it is taken captive. The plant feeds on them; it assimilates the nitrogen in the animals it catches, and leaves them a thin shell, which is blown away, and then it is ready for another repast. As many as 260 glands have been counted on their tentacles, and they have been known to catch a big gadfly. They kill them generally in a quarter of an hour. It is a curious half- animal, half-plant.”
2STd May, 1875. — To his Brother. — “I have kept an eye open for ferns always, and was so glad to find the Ceterach. It grew on high walls, and I had to stop the man who was driving to get them. I saw great quantities of the Soft Shield, both near Tintem and Cardiff. I put in a plant, but the rest were so large it was useless to take them. I wish you saw some of the banks fringed with those Soft Shields, and huge clumps of Hart’s-tongue among the ivy. It is a lovely picture.”
LocHEE, dth Ajpril, 1875. — “It is just the same dear old place. My ferns are all springing in the greenhouse. There is nothing so lovely as the little green fronds slowly unfolding their rusty-looking coils.”
2Wi April, 1875. — “Froude’s view of free-will is the only one that cleared up to me the controversy. Ought would never exist in our language did not the idea of responsibility and duty pre-exist, and make a part, and a necessary part, of our nature. The consciousness of being cd)le to choose, or of power, is not the deciding point; for, as has been well shown, the power to choose may be itself the determining ruling motive; but no man can say so of ought, for it itself is the direct outcome of consciousness, and there is nothing anterior to it.”
His knowledge of French, before soinof to Paris, was chiefly from books; and perhaps at that
Studeiiis Life in Edmburgh. 147
time his French reading had not been so extensive as his German. Yet he had feasted on Pascal and Vinet, for whom he had a special admiration. The writings of Godet and Bersier were very familiar to him, with many others.
After going to Paris, he read constantly all the best French theological literature, and when preparing a discourse on any subject, would read as many as three or four authors on the subject, — not so much for ideas as for words. He said that thus his ear caught the fitting expression for his thoughts, and that, he learned to avoid the English turn, which is apt to cling to one long after grammatical correctness is attained. But to the end Vinet held a first place, though he dissented from his view of faith and its office in justification. “There is no French author I admire so much, next to Pascal. I think no man ever knew so well the way to show that Christianity was truly a system that embraced all that the reasoning and speculating faculties of man’s mind could have craved the satisfaction of. He saw so clearly that all history, sacred and profane, are parts of God’s purpose to be fulfilled alone in Christ’s life and death. He saw so clearly the need of redemption, and how redemption had no satisfying, real meaning except in the evangelical sense of the atonement.”
Atonement to him had no significance or reality apart from “substitution.” I remember in one of our last conversations, when walking through one of the avenues of Auteuil, how fully he spoke out his appreciation of this truth. We took up the different words of the New Testament, such as atonement, propitiation, satisfaction, sin-bearing, reconciliation, and the like. He was then sketching out a programme for some class or meeting: or series of tracts, and the idea filled his mind of classifying the great truths of the Gospel to the people under some such headings.
There was no Gospel to him apart from the pro- 23itiation of the Cross; and he saw that, dark as the French mind was upon these points, the great truths which these words enshrined were just those that were given him to preach to the people among whom he had come to labour. The reception of these was everlasting life, whether in Scotland or France. As a student he saw this; and as a minister of the Gospel in Paris he realised it more and more. All real success was to turn on the faithfulness and fulness with which he preached a Gospel which embodied these; and he was, in these student years, learning “how to preach” in the earnest days to come, and what the Gospel entrusted to his hands really was.