[Speech of Rev. W. L. Robbins at the annual dinner of the New York State
Bar Association, given in the City of Albany, N. Y., January 20, 1891,
in response to the sentiment, "The Relation of the Pulpit to the Bar."
Matthew Hale presided.]
MR. PRESIDENT AND GENTLEMEN:--I am so dazed at the temerity
which has ventured to put so soporific a subject as "The Pulpit" at so
late an hour in the evening, that I can only conceive of but one merit
in any response to the present toast, and that is brevity. I had always
supposed that the pulpit was "sleepy" enough in its effect upon men in
the early hours of the day, at least that was my conclusion, in so far
as it has been my privilege to see men present, at pulpit ministrations,
leaving us as they do for the most part to preach to women and children.
Shall I confess that the feeling came over me during the first part of
the evening that I was rather out of place among so many laymen, alone
as a representative of the clergy; but later, I found confidence through
a sense of kinship in suffering, for is it not true that we represent
two of the best abused professions in the world? I do not mean by that,
abuse _ab extra_. I am told indeed, occasionally, that the pulpit is
effete, that its place has been filled by the press and lecture
platform, that there is no further use for it. But I do not know that I
have heard abuse _ab extra_ of the Bar, unless some ill-natured person
should read it into the broad Scotch pronunciation of an old friend of
mine who used to say to me, "Ah, the lieyers, the lieyers."
But what we must needs guard against is abuse from within. In the first
place we are a good deal given to self-congratulation. I use the first
person plural and not the second person; I remember a friend of mine, a
distinguished clergyman in Boston, an Englishman, who once ventured to
preach upon political corruption in the municipal government, and the
next day he had the audacity to drop into the office of one of the
business men of his congregation and say, "What did you think of that
sermon?"--a very dangerous question, by the way, always to ask--and the
reply came promptly, "You had better go and be naturalized so that you
can say 'we sinners,' instead of 'you sinners.'" [Laughter.] Since that
time, from the pulpit or from any other place, I have hesitated to say,
"You sinners," and I will promise to say "we sinners" to-night.
But truly the pulpit and the Bar, in their ideal, are, as it were, "the
voice of one crying in the wilderness," a witness to the eternal truth.
Are they not? The pulpit is sent forth to herald the love of God, and
the Bar is sent forth to herald the justice of God; but they don't
always succeed. I can speak from experience for the pulpit, that the
position of authority, the claim of a divine mission, is often turned
into the excuse for the airing of a man's individual fads, and is naught
but a cloak for pretentious ignorance. [Applause.] And for the Bar, I
wonder if I might venture to quote the definition of legal practice
which was given me the other night, apropos of this toast, by a
distinguished representative of the New York Bar Association, that it
was "a clever device for frustrating justice, and getting money into the
lawyer's pocket." [Laughter.] But if it be true that we have a mission,
it is equally true that we must join hands if we are going to accomplish
that mission. I am tired of hearing about the Pulpit as the voice of the
public conscience. I do not know why the Bar should not be the voice of
the public conscience quite as much as the Pulpit. If there are laws on
the statute book that are not obeyed, I don't know why the clergy should
make public protest rather than the lawyers, who are representatives of
the law. [Applause.] And if principles of our Constitution are being
subtly invaded to-day under the mask, for instance, of State subsidies
or national subsidies to sectarian institutions either of learning or of
charity, I don't know why the first voice of warning should come from
the Pulpit rather than from the Bar. Indeed, when the clergy initiate
reforming movements it always seems to me as though there is need of
rather more ballast in the boat, need of one of those great wheels which
act as a check on the machinery in an engine; and the best fly-wheel is
the layman. The tendency, you know, of the Pulpit is toward an
unpractical sort of idealism. Its theories are all very good, but my
professor in physics used to tell me that the best mathematical theory
is put out of gear by friction when you come to illustrate it in
practical physics, and so with even the best kind of theoretical
philanthropy. The theoretical solution of the problems, social and
economic, which confront us is put "out of gear" by facts, about which,
alas, the clergy are not as careful as they are about their theory; and,
therefore, I plead for a lay enthusiasm. But surely there is no better
lay element than the legal to act as ballast for the clergy in pleading
the cause of philanthropy and piety and righteousness.
Then I would suggest first of all, that the Pulpit needs to leave the A,
B, C's of morality, about which it has been pottering so long, and begin
to spell words and sometimes have a reading lesson in morals. That is,
that it should apply its principles to practical living issues and
questions of the day. And I plead to the lawyers to come out once in
awhile from the technicalities of practice, and from their worship of
cleverness and success, and look to the mission which is laid on them,
namely, to bear witness to justice and righteousness. [Applause.] My
toast would be "Common sense in the Pulpit and a love of righteousness
at the Bar."