ORIGIN OF THE UNHAPPY FEELING--CHARACTERISTICS OF THE AUTHOR'S
MIND--RATIONALIZING TENDENCY.
How came I to be the subject of this bad feeling? I will tell you.
As a young minister I had two or three marked tendencies. One may be
called a rationalizing tendency. I was anxious, in the first place,
clearly to understand all my professed beliefs, and to be able, in the
second place, to make them plain to others. I never liked to travel in a
fog, wrapped round as with a blinding cloud, unable either to see my
way, or to get a view of the things with which I was surrounded. I liked
a clear, bright sky, with the sun shining full upon my path, and
gladdening my eyes with a view of a thousand interesting objects. And so
with regard to spiritual matters. I never liked to travel in theological
fogs. They pressed on me at the outset of my religious life, on every
side, hiding from my view the wonders and the glories of God's word and
works; but I never rested in the darkness. I longed and prayed for light
with all my soul, and sought for it with all my powers. Regarding the
Bible as God's Book, given to man for his instruction and salvation, I
resolved, by God's help, to find out both what it said and what it
meant, on every important point of truth and duty.
1. I became sensible, very early in life, that the doctrines I had
received from my teachers were, in some cases, inconsistent with each
other, and that they could not therefore all be true; and I was anxious
to get rid of this inconsistency, and to bring the whole of my beliefs
into harmony with each other.
2. I was also anxious to bring my views into agreement with the
teachings of Christ and His Apostles. I wished every article of my
belief to rest, not on the word of man, but on the word of God. I
believed it to be my duty to come as near to Christ as possible, both in
my views and character. And I wished my style of preaching and teaching
to be, like His, the perfection of plainness and simplicity. I felt that
my chief mission was to the masses,--that I was called especially to
preach and teach the Gospel to the poor; and it was my wish to be able
to make it plain to people of the most defective education, and of the
humblest capacity.
3. I was further wishful to see an agreement between the doctrines which
I gathered from the Sacred Scriptures, and the oracles which came to me
from the works of God in nature. If nature and Christianity were from
the same All-perfect God, as I believed, their voices must be one. Their
lessons of truth and duty must agree. They must have the same end and
tendency. Christian precepts must be in harmony with man's mental and
bodily constitution. They must be conducive to the development of all
man's powers; to the perfection and happiness of his whole being. They
must be friendly to the improvement of his condition. They must favor
every thing that is conducive to his personal and domestic happiness,
and to the social and national welfare of the whole human race. And the
doctrines of Christianity must be in harmony with the constitution, and
laws, and phenomena of the visible universe. If there be one Great,
All-perfect Creator and Governor of the world and of man, then man and
the universe, the universe and religion, science and revelation,
philosophy and Christianity, the laws of nature and the laws of Christ,
must all be one. I wanted to see this oneness, and to feel the sweet
sense of it in my soul.
4. I wanted further to see the foundations on which my belief in God and
Christ and in the Sacred Scriptures rested, that I might be able to
justify my belief both to myself and to others. I wished to have the
fullest evidence and assurance of the truth of Christianity I could get,
that I might both feel at rest and happy myself, and be able to give
rest and comfort to the souls of others.
5. With these objects in view I set to work. I prayed to God, the Great
Father of lights, and the Giver of every good and perfect gift, to lead
me into all truth, and to furnish me to every good work. I read the
Bible with the greatest care. I searched it through and through. I
studied it daily, desirous to learn the whole scope and substance of its
teachings, on every point both of truth and duty. I marked on the margin
of the pages all those passages that struck me by their peculiar
clearness, and their fulness of important meaning. These passages I read
over again and again, till I got great numbers of them off by heart. I
gave each passage a particular mark according to the subject on which it
treated. I then copied the whole of these passages into large Note
Books, placing all that spake on any particular subject together. I also
arranged the passages so far as I was able, in their natural order, that
they might throw light on one another, and present the subject on which
they treated, in as full and intelligible a light as possible. I divided
the pages of my Note Books into two columns, placing the passages which
favored one view of a subject in the first column, and those which
seemed to favor a different view in the second. I placed in those Note
Books passages on matters of duty, as well as on matters of truth. In
this way I got nearly all the plainer and more important portions of the
Bible arranged in something like systematic order. Having done this, I
went through my Books, and put down in writing all that the passages
plainly taught, and marked the bearing of their teachings on the various
articles of my creed, with a view to bringing my creed, and the
teachings of Scripture, into agreement with each other.
6. To help me in these my labors, and to secure myself as far as
possible from serious error, I read a multitude of other books, on
almost every subject of importance, by authors of almost all varieties
of creeds. I read commentaries, sermons, bodies of divinity, and a host
of treatises on various points. To the best of my ability I examined the
Scriptures in the original languages, as well as in a number of
translations, both ancient and modern, including several Latin and
French versions, four German ones, and all the English ones that came in
my way. I had a number of Lexicons, and of Theological and Bible
Dictionaries of which I made free use. I went through the Commentaries
of Baxter, Wesley and Adam Clarke with the greatest care, as well as
through a huge and somewhat heterodox, but able and excellent work,
published by Goadby, entitled, _Illustrations of the Sacred Scriptures_.
I do not think I missed a single sentence in these commentaries, or
passed unweighed a single word.
I read and studied the writings of Wesley generally, and the works of
Fletcher, Benson and Watson. I read Hooker and Taylor also, and Wilkins,
and Barrow, and Tillotson, and Butler, and Burnet, and Pearson, and
Hoadley. I read the writings of Baxter almost continually. I went
through, not only the whole of his voluminous practical works, but many
of his doctrinal and controversial ones, including his Catholic
Theology, his Aphorisms on Justification, his Confessions, and his most
elaborate, comprehensive and wonderful work of all, his _Methodus
Theologiae_, in Latin. In Baxter alone I had a world of materials for
thought, on almost every religious and moral subject that can engage the
mind of man. And on almost every subject of importance his thoughts
seemed rich and wholesome, scriptural and rational in the highest
degree. His Christian spirit held me captive, and I never got tired of
his earnest, eloquent, and godly talk. Even the old and endless
controversies on which he spent so much time and strength, were often
rendered interesting by the honesty of his heart, by the abundance of
his charity, by the moderation of his views, and by the never-failing
good sound sense of his remarks. None of the works I read had such a
charm for me as those of Baxter, and no other religious writer exerted
so powerful and lasting an influence either on my head or heart. Taylor
was too flowery, and Barrow too wordy, and Tillotson was rather cold and
formal; yet I read them all with profit, and with a great amount of
pleasure. Hooker I found a wonder, both for excellency of style and
richness of sentiment; and his piety and wisdom, his candor and his
charity, have never been surpassed since the days of Christ and His
Apostles. And Hoadley too I liked, and Butler, and Thomas a Kempis, and
William Law. And then came Bolton and Howe, and Doddridge and Watts.
Then Penn, and Barclay, and Clarkson, and Sewell, and Hales, and Dell
caught my attention, giving me interesting revelations of Quaker thought
and feeling.
And I was edified by Lactantius and Chrysostom, the most eloquent,
rational and practical of the Christian Fathers. By and by came
Priestley and Price, and Dr. John Taylor, and W. E. Channing, and a host
of others of the modern school of heterodox writers. I also read a
number of celebrated French authors, including Bossuet and Bourdaloue,
Flechier and Massillon, Pascal and Fenelon, and the eloquent, Protestant
preacher and author, M. Saurin. I read the principal works both of
Catholics and Protestants, of the Fathers and Reformers, of Churchmen
and Dissenters, of Quakers and Mystics, of Methodists and Calvinists, of
Unitarians and Infidels.
I read several works on Law and Government, including Puffendorf's Law
of Nature, Grotius on the Laws of Peace and War, Bodin on Government,
Montesquieu's Spirit of Laws, Blackstone's Commentaries, and Jeremy
Taylor's Ductor Dubitantium. I had read works on Anatomy, Physiology and
Medicine, when I could get hold of them, from the time when I was only
twelve years old. I never went far into any other sciences, yet I
studied, to some extent, Astronomy, Geology, Physical Geography, Botany,
Natural History, and Anthropology. I read Wesley's publication on
Natural Philosophy, and I gave more or less attention to every work on
science and natural philosophy that came in my way. Works on natural
religion and natural theology, in which science was taught and used in
subservience to Christian truth and duty, I read whenever I could get
hold of them. They interested me exceedingly. For works on Painting,
Sculpture, Architecture, I had not the least regard. They seemed to
have no tendency to help me in the work in which I was engaged, and I
had no desire to talk respectable nonsense on such subjects. I was fond
of Ecclesiastical and Civil History, and read most greedily such works
as threw light on the progress of society in learning, science, and
useful arts; in freedom, morals, religion and government. I read many of
the works of the ancient Greeks and Romans, and the history of the
wonderful periods in which they flourished. I was especially fond of
Cicero, Seneca, and Epictetus. All subjects bearing on the great
interests of mankind, and all works revealing the workings of the human
mind and the laws of human nature, seemed to me to bear important
relations to religion and the Bible; and the writings of the great
philosophers, lawyers, and historians, appeared to be almost as much in
my line as Baxter's Christian Directory, or Wesley's Notes on the New
Testament.
Tales of wars and intrigues, and of royal and aristocratic vices and
follies I hated. Yet I was interested in accounts of religious
controversies, and read with eagerness, though with pain and horror, the
tragic and soul-harrowing stories of the deadly conflicts between
Christian piety and anti-Christian intolerance. Above all I loved
well-written books on the beneficial influence of Christianity on the
temporal interests and the general happiness of mankind. I liked good
biographies, especially of celebrated students, great philosophers, and
remarkable Christian philanthropists. Of works of fiction I read very
few, and evermore still fewer as I got older, until at length I came to
view them generally as a great nuisance. There are few, I suppose, that
can say they read the whole, not only of Wesley's works, but of his
Christian Library, in fifty volumes; yet I went through the whole,
though one of the books was so profound, or else so silly, that I could
not find one sentence in it that I could properly understand. I read the
greater part of the books of my friends. I went through nearly the whole
library of a village about two miles distant from my native place. My
native place itself could not boast a library in those days. I read
scores, if not hundreds of books that taught me nothing but the
ignorance and self-conceit of the writers, and the various forms of
literary and religious insanity to which poor weak humanity is liable.
There was a large old Free Library at Newcastle-on-Tyne, left to the
city by a celebrated clergyman, which contained all the Fathers, all the
Greek and Roman Classics, all the more celebrated of the old Infidels,
all the old leading skeptical and lawless writers of Italy, and France,
and Holland, all the great old Church of England writers, and all the
leading writers of the Nonconformists, Dissenters, and Heretics of all
kinds. To this library I used to go, day after day, and stay from
morning to night, reading some of the great authors through, and
examining almost all of them sufficiently to enable me to see what there
was _in_ each, that I had not met with in the rest. Here I read Hobbes
and Machiavel, Bolingbroke and Shaftesbury, Tindal and Chubb. Here I
first saw the works of Cudworth and Chillingworth, and here too I first
found the entire works of Bacon and Newton, of Locke and Boyle. Here
also I read the works of some of the older defenders of the faith.
Grotius on the truth of the Christian religion I had read much earlier.
I had used it as a school book, translating it both out of Latin into
English, and out of English back into Latin, imprinting it thereby
almost word for word upon my memory. I had also read the work of his
commentator on the causes of incredulity. Leland on the deistical
writers, and Paley's Evidences, and others, I read after. But in this
great old library I met with numbers of interesting and important works
that I have never met with since. And here, in the dimly lighted
antiquated rooms, I used to fill my mind with a world of facts, and
thoughts, and fancies, and then go away to meditate upon them while
travelling on my way, or sitting in my room, or lying on my bed. Day and
night, alone and in company, these were the things which filled my mind
and exercised my thoughts.
And having a rather retentive memory, and considerable powers of
imagination, I was able at times to bring almost all the things of
importance which I had met with in my reading, before my mind, and
compare them both with each other, and with all that was already in my
memory. And whatever appeared to me most rational, most scriptural, I
treasured for future use, allowing the rest to drift away into
forgetfulness.
No one can imagine the happiness I found in this my search after truth,
except those who have experienced the like. I seemed at times to live in
a region of the highest and divinest bliss. Every fresh discovery of
truth, every detection of old error, every enlargement of my views,
brought unspeakable rapture; and had it not been for the
narrow-mindedness of some of my friends, the restraints of established
creeds, and the thought of the trials which my mental revels might some
day bring on me and my family, my life would have been a heaven on
earth.
Perhaps I read too much, or too greedily and variously. Would it not in
any case have been better for me to have refrained from reading the
writings of such a host of heretics, infidels, and mere natural
philosophers? It is certain that what I attempted was too much for my
powers, and too vast for one man's life. But I was not sufficiently
conscious of the infinitude of truth, or of the narrow limits of my
powers, or of the infinite mysteries of which humanity and the universe
are full. And my desire for knowledge was infinite, and my appetite was
very keen, and I was so desirous to be right on every subject bearing on
the religion of Christ, and on the great interests of mankind, that
nothing that I could do seemed too much if it seemed likely to help me
in the attainment of my object.
Then I had no considerate and enlightened guide; no friend, no
colleague, with a father's heart, to direct me in my studies or my
choice of books. There was one minister in the Body to which I belonged
that might have given me good counsel, if he had been at hand, but he
and I were never stationed in the same neighborhood. And he had suffered
so much on account of his superior intelligence and liberal tendencies,
that he might have felt unwilling to advise me freely. The preachers
generally could not understand me, and they had no sympathy with my
eager longings for religious knowledge. They could not comprehend what
in the world I could want beyond their own old stereotyped notions and
phrases, and the comfortable provision made for the supply of my
temporal wants. Why could I not check my thinking, enjoy my popularity,
and rejoice in the success of my labors? And when I could not take their
flippant counsels, they had nothing left but hints at unpleasant
consequences. There was nothing for me therefore, but to follow the
promptings of my own insatiate soul, and travel on alone in the fear of
God, hoping that things would get better, and my prospects grow brighter
by and by.
So I moved on in my own track, still digging for truth as for silver,
and searching for it as for hidden treasure. And I worked unceasingly,
and with all my might. I lost no time. I hated pleasure parties, and all
kinds of amusements. My work was my amusement. I hated company, unless
the subject of conversation could be religion, or something pertaining
to it. When obliged to go out and take dinner, or tea, or supper, I
always took a book or two with me, and if the company were not inclined
to spend the time in useful conversation, I would slip away into some
quiet room, or take a walk, and spend my time in reading. I always read
on my walks and on my journeys, if the weather was fair, and on some
occasions when it was not fair. My mind was always on the stretch. I had
no idea that I needed rest or recreation. It never entered into my mind
that I could get to the end of my mental strength, and when I was
actually exhausted,--when I had wearied both body and mind to the
utmost, so that writing and even reading became irksome to me, I still
accused myself of idleness, instead of suspecting myself of weariness. I
wonder that I lived. If my constitution had not been sound and elastic
to the last degree, I should have worn myself out, and been silent in
the dust, more than thirty years ago.
7. All the time that I was laboring to correct and enlarge my views of
Christian truth and duty, I was endeavoring to improve my way of
speaking and writing. I wished, of course, to be able to speak and write
correctly and forcibly, but what I longed for most of all, was to be
able to speak with the greatest possible plainness and simplicity to the
poorer and less favored classes. If there were things in Christianity
that were inexplicable mysteries, I had no wish to meddle with them at
all; if there was nothing but what was explicable, I wished to be able
to speak in such a manner as to make the whole subject of religion plain
to them. My belief was that there were _not_ any inexplicable mysteries
in Christianity; that though there were doctrines in Christianity which
had been mysteries in earlier times, they were mysteries now no longer,
but revelations; that the things which were inexplicable mysteries,
belonged to God, and that none but things that were revealed belonged to
us. My impression was, that all things spiritual could be made as plain
to people of common sense and honest hearts, as things natural; that all
that was necessary to this end, was first to separate from Christianity
all that was _not_ Christianity, and secondly, to translate Christianity
out of Latin and Greek, Hebrew and Gibberish, into the language of the
common people.
To qualify myself for this work of translation was the next great object
of all my studies. Paul regarded the unnecessary use of unknown tongues
in the assemblies of the Church, as a great nuisance. He demanded that
everything said in those assemblies, should be spoken in a language that
all could understand. Whether men prayed, or sang, or preached, he
insisted that they should do it in such a manner as to make themselves
intelligible. His remarks on this subject are the perfection of wisdom,
and deserve more attention from religious teachers than they are
accustomed to receive. Paul's wish was, that Christians should not only
all speak the same things, but that they should speak them in the same
way, so that they might all be able to understand each other, and that
outsiders might be able to understand them all. "Above all gifts," says
he, "covet the gift of plain and intelligible speaking. Never use an
unknown tongue so long as you can use a known one. He that speaketh in
an unknown tongue speaketh not unto men but unto God: for no man
understandeth him. He may talk about very good things, but no one is the
better for his talk. But he that speaketh in a known tongue can be
understood by all; and all are instructed, and comforted, and
strengthened. And even God can understand a known tongue as well as an
unknown one. He that speaketh in an unknown tongue may edify himself
perhaps; but he that speaketh in a known one, edifieth the Church. I do
not grudge you your unknown tongues, but I had a great deal rather you
would use a known one; for greater is he that speaketh in a known one,
than he that speaketh in an unknown one. True greatness does not consist
in saying or doing things wonderful; but in saying and doing things
useful,--in talking and acting in a loving, condescending,
self-sacrificing spirit, with a view to the comfort and welfare of our
brethren. Suppose I were to come to you speaking in tongues that you did
not understand, what good should I do you, unless I should translate
what I said into a tongue you could understand? And why should I say a
thing twice over when saying it once would do as well, and even better?
Everything should be made as plain as possible from the first. When you
have made things as plain as you can, there will be some that will find
it as much as they can do to catch your meaning. If you talk in an
unknown tongue they cannot get at your meaning at all, but only sit, and
stare, and sigh. Some poor silly souls may admire and applaud you; for
there are always some who, when they hear a man that they cannot
understand, will cry out, What a great preacher! But what good or
sensible man would wish for the praise of such creatures as those? Talk
intelligibly. Talk so that folks can tell what you are talking about. If
you have nothing worth saying, hold your tongues. If you _have_
something worth saying, say it so that people can understand it. Make
everything as clear as possible. We might as well be without tongues as
talk unintelligibly. Even things without life, giving sound, whether
pipe or harp, except they give a distinction in the sounds, how shall it
be known what is piped or harped? For if the trumpet give an uncertain
sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle? So likewise ye, except
ye utter by the tongue words easy to be understood, how shall it be
known what is spoken? for ye shall speak into the air. There are, no one
knows how many voices in the world; and none of them without
signification. The voices of birds and the voices of beasts are endless
in variety; yet each has its own distinct intelligible meaning. All
creatures, though destitute of language like that of man, make
themselves properly understood by their mates, their kindred, and their
associates. They even make themselves intelligible to men. Talk of great
preachers;--why the man that cannot or will not preach so as to make
himself understood, is smaller, lower, less in the esteem of God, and
of good, sensible, Christian men and women, than the lowest animal, or
the smallest insect, on the face of the earth. Every sheep that bleats,
every ox that lows, every ass that brays, every bird that sings, and
every goose that gabbles, is more of a sage, if not more of a saint,
than the great preachers! The things so-called by a certain class of
simpletons, are about the most pitiable, if not the most blameable
creatures, in all God's universe. What then is the upshot of what I am
saying? It is this. Whether I sing, or pray, or talk, I will make myself
understood. I thank my God, I can speak with tongues more than you all;
and I _do_ speak with them when it is necessary to do so in order to
make myself understood: but in the Church, I had rather speak five words
in a tongue and a style that my hearers can understand, that by my voice
I may teach others, than ten thousand in an unknown tongue."
And so the great, good, common-sense Apostle goes on.
My wish and purpose were to carry out his principles to the farthest
possible extent. If I had tried hard, I could have preached in Latin.
With a little more effort I could have preached in Greek. I could have
preached in the ordinary, high-sounding, Frenchified, Latinized, mongrel
style, without an effort. It required an effort to keep clear of the
abomination. And I made the effort. I wanted to feel when speaking, that
I had not only myself a proper understanding of what I was talking
about, but that I was conveying correct and clear ideas of it to the
minds of my hearers. To utter words which I did not understand, or words
which I could not make my hearers understand, was a thing I could not
endure; and to this day, the very idea of such a thing excites in me a
kind of horror. I had no ambition to preach what were called great
sermons, or to be what was called a great preacher. My great desire was
not to astonish or confound people, but to do them good; to convey
religious truth to their minds in such a way, and so to impress it on
their hearts, that they might be converted, edified, and saved.
When I first began to preach I had a cousin who was commencing his
career as a minister at the same time. _He_ was ambitious to shine, and
to astonish his hearers by a show of learning. He knew nothing of Latin
and Greek, but he was fond of great high-sounding words of Greek and
Latin origin. He carried about with him a pocket dictionary, which he
used for the purpose of turning little words into big ones, and common
ones into strange ones. My taste was just the contrary. My desire was to
be as simple as possible. Like my companion, I often carried about with
me a pocket dictionary, but the end for which _I_ used it was, to help
me to turn big words into little ones, and strange and hard ones into
common and easy ones. And whenever I had to consult a dictionary in
translating Latin, or Greek, or any other language, into English, I
always took the simplest and best known words I could find to give the
meaning of the original. My cousin's desire to shine betrayed him at
times into very ridiculous blunders. I once heard him say, after having
spent some time in explaining his text, "But that I may _devil-hope_ the
subject a little more fully, I would observe, that the words are
_mephitical_." He, of course, meant to say, _metaphorical_, figurative,
not _mephitical_ which means of a _bad smell_. My plan secured me
against such mistakes.
To assist me in gaining a knowledge of the true meaning, and of the
right use of words, and to correct and simplify my style as much as
possible, I read whatever came in my way on grammar and philology, on
rhetoric and logic. I also collected a number of the best English
dictionaries, including a beautiful copy of Johnson's great work in two
thick quarto volumes. I read and studied the works of nearly all our
great poets, from Spenser and Shakespeare, down to Cowper and Burns. I
read two or three later ones. I had already committed to memory the
whole, or nearly the whole, of the moral songs of Dr. Watts; and many of
them keep their places in my memory to the present day. And though it
may seem incredible to some, I actually committed to memory every hymn
in the Wesleyan Hymn Book. I never knew them all off at one time, but I
got them all off in succession. And I never forgot the better, truer,
simpler, sweeter ones. I can repeat hundreds of them still, with the
exception of here and there a stanza or two. And I committed to memory
all the better portion of the new hymns introduced into the hymn book
by the Methodist New Connection. And I committed to memory choice pieces
of poetry without number. I read Shakespeare till I could quote many of
his best passages, including nearly all his soliloquies, and a number of
long conversations, as readily as I could quote the sacred writings.
I read all Bunyan's works. I could tell the story of his Pilgrim from
beginning to end. I read Robinson Crusoe, and some of the other works of
Defoe. I read Addison and Johnson, Goldsmith and Swift. To get at the
origin and at the primitive meaning of words, I studied French and
German, as well as Latin and Greek. When I met with passages in English
authors that expressed great truths in a style that was not to my taste,
I used to translate them into my own style, just as I did fine passages
from Latin, Greek, or French authors. I also translated poetical
passages into prose. I tried sometimes to translate things into the
language of children, and in some cases I succeeded. I did my best to
keep in mind how I felt, and what I could understand, when I was a child
and a boy, and endeavored to keep my style as near as I could to the
level of my boyish understanding. My first superintendent did not
approve of my plan. "The proper way," said he, "is, not to go down to
the people; but to compel the people to come up to you." He was fond of
a swelling, high-sounding, long-winded style. How far he succeeded in
bringing people up to himself, I cannot say, but I recollect once
hearing a pupil of his talk a whole hour without uttering either a
thought or a feeling that was worth a straw. An old woman, with whom he
had once lived, and with whom he was a great favorite, said to me after
the service, 'Well, how did you like our young man?' 'He talked away,'
said I. 'I think he did,' she answered, 'he grows better and better. _I_
couldn't understand him.' His teacher, my superintendent, published a
volume of sermons; but I never met with anybody that had read them. I
read one or two of them myself, and was astonished;--perhaps not so much
astonished as something else,--to find, that at the end of one of his
tall-worded, long-winded, round-about sentences, he contradicted what he
had said at the beginning.