Blunt Axes; or, Science and Good Sense

“If the iron be blunt, and he do not whet the edge, then must he put to more strength; but wisdom is profitable to direct.”

LORD BACON said, “Knowledge is power,” and during the last hundred years no aphorism has been so often quoted, nor has any been so largely illustrated. In this little island, and during the present week, machinery will be in motion doing the work of five hundred millions of men; that is to say, the machines of England and Scotland will this week weave as much cloth and prepare as much food, and supply the world’s inhabitants with as many commodities, as could be made by hand if all the up-grown natives of the globe were exerting all their industry. Could you convert into artificers and labourers every man and woman in either hemisphere, and from the Caffres at the Cape to the Peers in our Parliament, did all agree to toil their utmost, and had they no implements besides those which primitive man possessed, — with all the expenditure of their vital powers,, with all the sweat, and waste of fibre, and straining of eyesight, at the week’s end it would be found that they had not done the same amount of work, nor done that work so well as a few engines peacefully revolving under the impulse of some hogsheads of water, or so many tons of coal.

In the barbaric civilization of the old Mexicans, it was thought a wonderful exploit to transmit intelligence at the rate of 200 miles in four-and-twenty hours. As they had neither horses nor dromedaries, in order to accomplish this feat posts were established at intervals of three or four miles; and snatching the dispatch from one reeking messenger, the courier burst away with it and flew over hill and valley till he reached the next station, and thrust it into the hand of another express, who, in his turn, bolted off and conveyed it farther inland, till at last it reached the Emperor. How amazed one of these old Aztecs might be could he revive from the slumber of three centuries, and see the whole accomplished without fatigue to a single human being! How amazed did he know that without shortening the breath or moistening the brow of a single messenger, communications could come and go betwixt a king and his commander-in- chief, a hundred leagues asunder, fifty times in a single day!

We see that “knowledge is power,” and we constantly repeat the saying as if Bacon had been the first who remarked the strength of skill. But sixand-twenty centuries before the days of Lord Verulam, King Solomon had said, “A wise man is strong.” “Wisdom is better than strength/* “Wisdom is better than weapons of war.” Perhaps it is owing to the imperfect sympathies which exist between theologians and philosophers, that such scriptural sayings and many others fraught with great principles have received so little justice. And hence it has come to pass that many a maxim has got a fresh circulation, and has made a little fortune of renown for its author, which is, after all, a medal fresh minted from Bible money: the gold of Moses or Solomon used up again with the image and superscription of Bacon, or Pascal, or Benjamin Franklin.

The particular example which Solomon here gives, will bring to your remembrance many parallels, from the time when Archimedes with his engines on the wall, sank the ships of Marcellus in the port of Syracuse, down to the gallant and successful defence of Antwerp conducted by the old mathematician, Carnot.* “There was a little city, and few men within it; and there came a great king against it, and besieged it, and built great bulwarks against it. Now there was found in it a poor wise man, and he by his wisdom delivered the city.” And surely science is never more sublime than when thus she wins and wears the civic crown. Or even should there be no invader at the gates, when a beneficent

* Livy, lib. 24, cap. 34. Alison’s “Europe,” chap. 78.

ingenuity is exerted to enhance the pleasures of peace; when discovery chemical or dynamical floods our streets with midnight radiance, and bids clear water spring up in the poorest attic; when it mitigates disease or multiplies the loaves of bread; when by making them nearer neighbours it forces nations to be better friends, and by diminishing life’s interruptions lengthens our span of probation and our power of usefulness; — surely the “poor man” whose “wis dom” thus enriches the species deserves to sit among the princes of the people; and whilst religion should render praise to that Wonderful Counsellor who teacheth man such knowledge, patriotism and philanthropy must enrol the discoverers among the benefactors of mankind.

“Wisdom is better than strength,” and the more that wisdom spreads the more human strength’ is saved, and the more is comfort enhanced. The bird who is about to build her nest next month will toil as long and work as hard as the sparrows and swallows who frequented the temple in the time of Solomon, and the building will be no improvement on the nests of three thousand years ago. But if Solomon’s own palace were to be builded anew, modern skill could rear it much faster than Hiram’s masonry; and there are few houses in London which do not contain luxuries and accommodations which were lacking in “the house of the forest of Lebanon.” It is the kindness of the Creator to the inferior animal that He gives it instinct, and puts it from the outset on a plan sufficiently good for its purpose. But the prerogative of man is progress. His instincts are faint and few; whilst to reason and faith the vistas are boundless. And betwixt that “wisdom” which God has directly revealed, and those expedients which are constantly occurring to painstaking intelligence, it is so arranged that the older humanity waxes, the lighter grow its toils and the more copious become the alleviations of its lot. Already a pound of coals and a pint of water will do the day’s work of a sturdy man; and with a week’s wages a mechanic may now procure a library more comprehensive and more edifying than that which adorned the Tusculan villa, — nay, such a store of books as the wealth of Solomon could not command.

These statements meet a certain misgiving of some truly Christian minds. They love the Bible, because it is God’s book. To some degree they love the landscape and the seasons, because they are God’s handiwork. They can take pleasure in watching the proceedings of the lower animals, because in the dyke-building of that beaver, or the nest-building of that bird, they can mark evolutions of the all-pervading Mind. But when they come to the operations of the artisan or the architect, they are conscious of an abrupt transition, and with the poet they exclaim,

“God made the country, but man made the town.” Here, however, there is a fallacy. So far as sinful purposes may be designed or subserved in their construction, the town and its contents are the work of man; but the materials and the skill which moulds them are the good and perfect gifts of God. It is true that He has not taught man to make palaces and railways instinctively, as He has taught ants to build hillocks and construct covered galleries; but He has furnished the human mind with those faculties and tendencies which, under favouring circumstances, develop in railways and palaces as surely as beavermind develops in moles and embankments, or as bee-mind develops in combs and hexagons. And although it may be very true that the artificer is often undevout, — perhaps a libertine or an atheist; and although the curious contrivance or exquisite elaboration may be designed for any end but a holy one; when you separate the moral from the mechanical, — the sin which is man’s from the skill which is Jehovah’s, — in every fair product, and more especially in every contribution to human comfort, you ought to recognise the wisdom and goodness of God as their ultimate origin no less than if you read on every object, “Holiness to the Lord,” and in each artificer discerned another Aholiab or Bezaleel. The arts are the gift of God; their abuse is from man and from the Devil. And just as an enlightened disciple looks forth on the landscape, and in its beautiful features as well as its curious ingredients, beholds mementoes of his Master: so surveying a beautiful city, its museums and its monuments, its statues and fountains; or sauntering through a gallery of arts and useful inventions, — in all the symmetry of proportions and splendour of colouring, in every ingenious device and every powerful engine, he may discern the manifestations of that Mind which is wonderful in counsel and excellent in working; and so far as skill and adaptation and elegance are involved, piety will hail the Great Architect Himself as the Maker of the town.*

So Christian is art, — so truly a good gift of the Father of lights, that, wherever the Gospel proceeds, this companion should go with it. When the missionary, Van der Kemp, was setting out for Africa, passing one of the brick-fields of London, he thought it would be such a boon to the Hottentots if he could improve their dwellings that he offered himself as a servant to the brick-maker, and spent some weeks in learning the business. And he was right. It is not easy to live godly and righteously amidst filth and darkness; and although the Gospel will not refuse to enter a Hottentot hut or an Irish cabin, when once it is admitted its tendency is to improve that cabin or hut into a cottage with tiles on the floor and glass in the windows. And, to the honour of Christian missionaries, it should be remembered that wherever they have gone they have carried those useful arts which render godliness profitable to all

* Those who are interested in such topics will find them fully discussed in “The Useful Arts; their Birth and Development,” edited by the llev. S. Martin.

things. “In the schools of Sierra Leone, the girls are taught to spin and the boys to weave.” In the South Sea Islands the missionaries have taught the people smiths’ work and wrights’ work; they have taught them to build ships and boil sugar; to print books and plant gardens. And even that race, once so besotted that its claim to the common humanity was disputed, — the Hottentots are now excellent farmers and artificers, and in the words of one of themselves, “they can make everything except a watch and a coach.“” *

In concluding this part of the subject, I would only remark that the more things which a Christian is able to do the better. “If the iron be blunt, and he do not whet the edge, then must he put to more strength.” A little skill expended in sharpening the edge, will save a great deal of strength in wielding the hatchet. But, just as the unskilful labourer who cannot handle the whetstone, must belabour the tree with a blunt instrument, and after inflaming his palms and racking his sinews, achieves less result than his neighbour whose knowledge and whose knack avail instead of brute force: so the servant who does not know the right way to do his work, after all his fatigue and fluster, will give less satisfaction than one who has learned the best and

* Harris’s Great Commission, pp. 196, 197. The industrial is admirably combined with the evangelistic in the French-Canadian Mission, and in the Home Mission of the Presbyterian Church in Ireland, easiest methods; the young emigrant who has no versatility must forego many comforts which more accomplished comrades enjoy; and the householder who knows nothing of the mechanic arts, or who knows not what to do when sickness and emergencies occur, must compensate by the depth of his purse, or by the strength of his arm for the defects of his skill. A blunt axe implies heavy blows and an aching arm; coarse work with a blistered hand. But “wisdom is profitable to direct.” Intelligence is as good as strength, and a little skill will save both time and materials, money and temper.

Important, however, as is mechanic skill, there is a wisdom still more profitable, — a wrisdom which can turn to its own account the mechanic skill of others. The clever engineer who saved the little city was a poor man, and so little understanding had his fellow-citizens, that it was with difficulty he obtained a hearing for his project, and so little gratitude had they that when the danger was past, “no one remembered the poor man.” And it is sad when people have neither the skill to help themselves, nor the sense to accept the services of others. It is sad when men have neither the sagacity to devise the measures which the emergency demands, nor can so far rule their spirits as to keep “quiet” and listen to what “wise men” say. And next to his wisdom who can offer good counsel, is the wisdom of him who can take it.

“A wise man’s heart is at his right hand,” never off its guard.* He is calm and collected, and is not easily taken by surprise. Whereas, a foo?s wits are at his left hand. His presence of mind is posthumous. He sees what he should have done when the mischief can no longer be undone. He hits on the very repartee he ought to have uttered when his assailant is already out of hearing. He suggests what would have saved the ship, when they are already raising the wreck. But, not only is it in ready resources that the fool is deficient; there is a transparent shallowness in his vacant gaze or self-conceited simper, and instead of that “susstained sense and gravity,” f which marks the man of mind, his garrulous egotism and confidential childishness are constantly betraying the secret of his silliness. Reserve is none of his failings. He is as frank as he is foolish; and when” he walketh by the way, his wisdom faileth him, and he saith to every one that he is a fool.”

One rare manifestation of good sense is magnanimity. “If the spirit of the ruler rise up against thee, leave not thy place; for yielding pacificth great offences.” If, acting as the king’s adviser, you incur his displeasure; if, in obedience to conscience, or in concern for your country, you are constrained to urge unpalatable counsel, and if your faithfulness proves offensive, instead of retiring into some other land, be patriotic, and keep your post. Instead of obeying your offended dignity and re- * G. Holden. Dr Chalmers.

turning spleen for spleen, await the propitious season. For a soft answer turneth away wrath, and self-control will conquer your sovereign. Nor is it only from the ministers of despots that such a sacrifice may be demanded. It extends to every official person. If you are a representative of the people, and if you are sometimes vexed and worried with unreasonable demands or ungracious remonstrances: — if you occupy some municipal station, and are brought into conflict with foul tongues and coarse natures: — if you are a member of any court, civil or ecclesiastical, where you are frequently outvoted, and measures are often carried, which you utterly abhor, — the impulse is to abdicate. Why should you serve heads so thick, and hearts so thankless? Why should you mingle with such a rabble rout, and submit day by day to have your good name kicked along the kennel? And rather than be always making motions which are lost, and protests which are laughed at, would it not be better to retire into private life, and spend your influence on those who may both take your advice, and spare your feelings? True, if it were the love of praise or the love of power which put you in that post, now that popularity is waning and influence lost, by all means relinquish it. But if it were a higher motive, let the motive which took you keep you there. If it was the love of your country, or the zeal of the Gospel which drew you into office, let neither reproaches nor rough usage drive you out. Though the spirit of the populace rise up against you, — though the majority for the time overrule you, leave not your place. Calmness in the midst of contumely,, equanimity under defeat will pacify great offences: and if you do not live to carry your point, when a subsequent age sees your principles triumph, you will be commemorated among the proto-martyrs, who, when the cause was forlorn, laboured, and never fainted.

Then, after a parenthetical reference to certain infatuations of princes, having already described the patience of wisdom, he next specifies its promptitude. “If the serpent bite before enchantment, what advantage has the charmer?” In the East, there have always been persons who, by means of music and legerdemain, exert great influence over some species of serpents; so that whilst under their spell, the deadly cobra may be handled, as if he were utterly harmless. But if the charmer tread on the snake unawares, or be bitten when off his guard, he will be poisoned like another man. And to certain minds, God has given ascendancy over other minds, like the influence of the serpent-charmer. Sagacious and eloquent, they are able to soothe the fury of fierce tempers, and mould rancorous natures to their will. Like David’s transforming harp, as the strain advances, it looks as if a new possession had entered the exorcised frame, and a seraph smiled out at those windows, where a demon was frowning before. But alas for the harper, if Saul should snatch the javelin before David has time to touch the strings! Alas for the wise charmer, and alas for the good cause, if the tyrant’s passion towers up, or the decree of the despot goes forth before a friendly counsellor has time to interpose!

et The words of a wise man’s mouth are gracious.” It is a pleasure to hear him, and so enriching is his discourse, that to listen is to be wiser and better. “But the lips of a fool will swallow up himself.” He is the sepulchre of his own reputation; for as long as he was silent, you were willing to give him credit for the usual share of intelligence, but no sooner does he blurt out some astounding blunder — no sooner does he begin to prattle forth his egotism and vanity, than your respect is exchanged for contempt or compassion. Nay, it is not only himself that his lips swallow up: for all unlike the “gracious” discourse of the wise man, the gossip of the fool is heartless or malignant, and often ends in “mischievous madness.” From recklessness, or from finding that a tale of slander will secure an audience even for a fool, he is constantly retailing calumny, and damaging other people’s reputation. The rest of his talk is mere word-rubbish. “A man cannot tell what shall be;” and, “what shall be after him, who can tell?” — such trite and irksome truisms is he retailing all the day to the sore vexation of some hapless hearer. He is consistent. He is no wiser in deed, than in word; but even the road to the market — so patent and so frequented, o he contrives to miss; and in the evening he and his ass return to the farm with their unsold produce, because he had forgotten the way to the city, and would not follow his wiser companion.

It is very important that Christians should be men of high accomplishment. Crowded as is the world, it has still abundant room for first-rate men; and, whosoever would ensure a welcome from society, has only to unite to good principle eminent skill in his own calling. But the day for stone hatchets and blunt axes is past, and from the humblest craft to the most intellectual profession, in order to succeed, it is requisite to be clever and active and well-informed. Doubtless, sickness and other calamities may interpose; but assuredly, no one has a right to quarrel with the world if it refuses to pay for misshapen garments and unreadable poems. And therefore I would say to my young hearers, Make diligence in business a part of your religion. Add to virtue knowledge. Whatever you intend to do, pray, and study, and labour till no one can do that thing better than yourself; and then when you enter on active life, you will find that you are really wanted. And, much as you have heard of glutted markets and a redundant population, you will find that there is yet no surplus of tradesmen, or servants, or scholars, who wdth exalted piety combine professional excellence. Large as is the accumulation of people who through misconduct have broken down, or who through indolent mediocrity never can get on, you will find no glut of talented goodness, or of intelligence in union with principle. In short, you will find that there is room enough for all who are able and willing to serve their generation.

It is especially important that those who are trying to benefit others should possess the wisdom which is profitable to direct. Much good has been defeated by the want of skill or practical wisdom in Christian professors. Many children have grown up with gloomy notions of religion from the mismanagement of parents, who so enforced its authority as to obscure its attractions. Many amiable persons have been repelled from the Gospel by the long lectures of friends who were faithful enough to reprove them, but not wise enough to win them. Many a prejudice has been created by a single imprudence, which long-sustained exertions have failed to countervail. And many a noble enterprise, when almost safe in port, has at last been shipwrecked by well-meaning wilfulness, or through that infirmity of vision which mistaking a house-lamp for a lighthouse, has steered, by a denominational crotchet in the belief that it was a Christian principle.

Nor is the cultivation of sound sense unimportant with a view to personal piety.

“That thou mayest injure no man, dove-like be, And serpent-like that none may injure thee.” *

* Matt. x. 16, paraphrased by Cowper.
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In a world like this, and not least in a capital like this, there is frequent need for such Christian sagacity; and, wherever he lives, a conscientious man must often encounter problems in conduct which tax not only all his principle but all his prudence. For such exigencies there is provided a great and precious promise: “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.” But, like all the gifts of God, this talent grows by trading; and he who prayerfully exerts his understanding in order to maintain the right-forward path of duty, will soon be fit to guide and counsel others. For, if “religion, placed in a soul of exquisite knowledge and abilities, as in a castle, finds not only habitation but defence;”* it is by devout self-culture, and by “behaving wisely” in his more personal affairs, that the judicious and high-minded Christian becomes at last a tower of strength to his friends, and a defence to the Gospel itself.

* South.

March 23, 1851.