Spare Hours Part 25

Chalmers halted, and looking steadfastly at the wall, exclaimed most earnestly, "What foliage! what foliage!" The boys looked at one another, and said nothing; but on getting home, expressed their astonishment at this very puzzling phenomenon. What a difference! leaves and parallelograms; a forest and a brick wall!

What, for instance, can be finer in expression than this? "It is well to be conversant with great elements-life and death, reason and madness."

"G.o.d forgets not his own purposes, though he executes them in his own way, and maintains his own pace, which he hastens not and shortens not to meet our impatience." "I find it easier to apprehend the greatness of The Deity than any of his moral perfections, or his sacredness;" and this-

"One cannot but feel an interest in Ishmael, figuring him to be a n.o.ble of nature-one of those heroes of the wilderness who lived on the produce of his bow, and whose spirit was nursed and exercised among the wild adventures of the life he led. And it does soften our conception of him whose hand was against every man, and every man's hand against him, when we read of his mother's influence over him, in the deference of Ishmael to whom we read another example of the respect yielded to females even in that so-called barbarous period of the world. There was a civilization, the immediate effect of religion, in these days, from which men fell away as the world grew older."

That he had a keen relish for material and moral beauty and grandeur we all know; what follows shows that he had also the true ear for beautiful words, as at once pleasant to the ear and suggestive of some higher feelings:-"I have often felt, in reading Milton and Thomson, a strong poetical effect in the bare enumeration of different countries, and this strongly enhanced by the statement of some common and prevailing emotion, which pa.s.sed from one to another." This is set forth with great beauty and power in verses 14th and 15th of Exodus xv.,-"The people shall hear and be afraid-sorrow shall take hold on the inhabitants of Palestina. Then the dukes of Edom shall be amazed-the mighty men of Moab, trembling shall take hold of them-the inhabitants of Canaan shall melt away." Any one who has a tolerable ear and any sensibility, must remember the sensation of delight in the mere sound-like the colors of a b.u.t.terfly's wing, or the shapeless glories of evening clouds, to the eye-in reading aloud such pa.s.sages as these: "Heshbon shall cry and Elealeh-their voice shall be heard to Jabez-for by the way of Luhith with weeping shall they go it up-for in the way of Horonaim they shall raise a cry. G.o.d came from Teman, the Holy One from Mount Paran. Is not Calno as Carchemish? is not Hamath as Arpad? is not Samaria as Damascus?

He is gone to Aiath, he is pa.s.sed to Migron; at Michmash he hath laid up his carriages: Ramath is afraid; Gibeah of Saul is fled-Lift up thy voice, O daughter of Gallim: cause it to be heard unto Laish, O poor Anathoth. Madmenah is removed; the inhabitants of Gebim gather themselves to flee. The fields of Heshbon languish-the vine of Sibmah-I will water thee with my tears, O Heshbon and Elealeh." Any one may prove to himself that much of the effect and beauty of these pa.s.sages depends on these names; put others in their room, and try them.

We remember well our first hearing Dr. Chalmers. We were in a moorland district in Tweeddale, rejoicing in the country, after nine months of the High School. We heard that the famous preacher was to be at a neighboring parish church, and off we set, a cartful of irrepressible youngsters. "Calm was all nature as a resting wheel." The crows, instead of making wing, were impudent and sat still; the cart-horses were standing, knowing the day, at the field-gates, gossiping and gazing, idle and happy; the moor was stretching away in the pale sunlight-vast, dim, melancholy, like a sea; everywhere were to be seen the gathering people, "sprinklings of blithe company;" the country-side seemed moving to one centre. As we entered the kirk we saw a notorious character, a drover, who had much of the brutal look of what he worked in, with the knowing eye of a man of the city, a sort of big Peter Bell-

"He had a hardness in his eye, He had a hardness in his cheek."

He was our terror, and we not only wondered, but were afraid when we saw _him_ going in. The kirk was full as it could hold. How different in looks to a brisk town congregation! There was a fine leisureliness and vague stare; all the dignity and vacancy of animals; eyebrows raised and mouths open, as is the habit with those who speak little and look much, and at far-off objects. The minister comes in, homely in his dress and gait, but having a great look about him, like a mountain among hills.

The High School boys thought him like a "big one of ourselves," he looks vaguely round upon his audience, as if he saw in it _one great object, not many_. We shall never forget his smile! its general benignity;-how he let the light of his countenance fall on us! He read a few verses quietly; then prayed briefly, solemnly, with his eyes wide open all the time, but not seeing. Then he gave out his text; we forget it, but its subject was, "Death reigns." He stated slowly, calmly, the simple meaning of the words; what death was, and how and why it reigned; then suddenly he started, and looked like a man who had seen some great sight, and was breathless to declare it; he told us how death reigned-everywhere, at all times, in all places; how we all knew it, how we would yet know more of it. The drover, who had sat down in the table-seat opposite, was gazing up in a state of stupid excitement; he seemed restless, but never kept his eye from the speaker. The tide set in-everything added to its power, deep called to deep, imagery and ill.u.s.tration poured in: and every now and then the theme,-the simple, terrible statement, was repeated in some lucid interval. After overwhelming us with proofs of the reign of Death, and transferring to us his intense urgency and emotion; and after shrieking, as if in despair, these words, "Death is a tremendous necessity,"-he suddenly looked beyond us as if into some distant region, and cried out, "Behold a mightier!-who is this? He cometh from Edom, with dyed garments from Bozrah, glorious in his apparel, speaking in righteousness, travelling in the greatness of his strength, mighty to save." Then, in a few plain sentences, he stated the truth as to sin entering, and death by sin, and death pa.s.sing upon all. Then he took fire once more, and enforced, with redoubled energy and richness, the freeness, the simplicity, the security, the sufficiency of the great method of justification. How astonished and impressed we all were! He was at the full thunder of his power; the whole man was in an agony of earnestness. The drover was weeping like a child, the tears running down his ruddy, coa.r.s.e cheeks-his face opened out and smoothed like an infant's; his whole body stirred with emotion. We all had insensibly been drawn out of our seats, and were converging towards the wonderful speaker. And when he sat down, after warning each one of us to remember who it was, and what it was, that followed death on his pale horse,[51] and how alone we could escape-we all sunk back into our seats. How beautiful to our eyes did the thunderer look-exhausted-but sweet and pure! How he poured out his soul before his G.o.d in giving thanks for sending the Abolisher of Death! Then, a short psalm, and all was ended.

[51] "And I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and his name that sat on him was Death, and h.e.l.l followed with him."-Rev. vi. 8.

We went home quieter than we came; we did not recount the foals with their long legs, and roguish eyes, and their sedate mothers; we did not speculate upon whose dog _that_ was, and whether _that_ was a crow or a man in the dim moor,-we thought of other things. That voice, that face; those great, simple, living thoughts; those floods of resistless eloquence; that piercing, shattering voice,-"that tremendous necessity."

Were we desirous of giving to one who had never seen or heard Dr.

Chalmers an idea of what manner of man he was-what he was as a whole, in the full round of his notions, tastes, affections, and powers-we would put this book into their hands, and ask them to read it slowly, bit by bit, as he wrote it. In it he puts down simply, and at once, what pa.s.ses through his mind as he reads; there is no making of himself feel and think-no getting into a frame of mind; he was not given to frames of mind; he preferred states to forms-substances to circ.u.mstances.

There is something of everything in it-his relish for abstract thought-his love of taking soundings in deep places and finding no bottom-his knack of starting subtle questions, which he did not care to run to earth-his penetrating, regulating G.o.dliness-his delight in nature-his turn for politics, general, economical, and ecclesiastical-his picturesque eye-his humanity-his courtesy-his warm-heartedness-his impetuosity-his sympathy with all the wants, pleasures, and sorrows of his kind-his delight in the law of G.o.d, and his simple, devout, manly treatment of it-his acknowledgment of difficulties-his turn for the sciences of quant.i.ty and number, and indeed for natural science and art generally-his shrewdness-his worldly wisdom-his genius; all these come out-you gather them like fruit, here a little, and there a little. He goes over the Bible, not as a philosopher, or a theologian, or a historian, or a geologist, or a jurist, or a naturalist, or a statist, or a politician-picking out all that he wants, and a great deal more than he has any business with, and leaving every thing else as barren to his reader as it has been to himself; but he looks abroad upon his Father's _word_-as he used so pleasantly to do on his _world_-as a man, and as a Christian; he submits himself to its influences, and lets his mind go out fully and naturally in its utterances. It is this which gives to this work all the charm of mult.i.tude in unity, of variety in harmony; and that sort of unexpectedness and ease of movement which we see everywhere in nature and in natural men.

Our readers will find in these delightful Bible Readings not a museum of antiquities, and curiosities, and laborious trifles; nor of scientific specimens, a.n.a.lyzed to the last degree, all standing in order, labelled and useless. They will not find in it an armory of weapons for fighting with and destroying their neighbors. They will get less of the physic of controversy than of the diet of holy living. They will find much of what Lord Bacon desired, when he said, "We want short, sound, and judicious notes upon Scripture, without running into commonplaces, pursuing controversies, or reducing those notes to artificial method, but leaving them quite loose and native. For certainly, as those wines which flow from the first treading of the grape are sweeter and better than those forced out by the press, which gives them the roughness of the husk and the stone, so are those doctrines best and sweetest which flow from a gentle crush of the Scriptures, and are not wrung into controversies and commonplaces." They will find it as a large pleasant garden; no great system; not trim, but beautiful, and in which there are things pleasant to the eye as well as good for food-flowers and fruits, and a few good, esculent, wholesome roots. There are Honesty, Thrift, Eye-bright (Euphrasy that cleanses the sight), Heart's-ease. The good seed in abundance, and the strange mystical Pa.s.sion-flower; and in the midst, and seen everywhere, if we but look for it, the Tree of Life, with its twelve manner of fruits-the very leaves of which are for the healing of the nations. And, perchance, when they take their walk through it at evening time, or at "the sweet hour of prime," they may see a happy, wise, beaming old man at his work there-they may hear his well-known voice; and if they have their spiritual senses exercised as they ought, they will not fail to see by his side, "one like unto the Son of Man."

_DR. GEORGE WILSON._

Among the many students at our University who some two-and-twenty years ago started on the great race, in the full flush of youth and health, and with that strong hunger for knowledge which only the young, or those who keep themselves so ever know, there were three lads-Edward Forbes, Samuel Brown, and George Wilson-who soon moved on to the front and took the lead. They are now all three in their graves.

No three minds could well have been more diverse in const.i.tution or bias; each was typical of a generic difference from the others. What they cordially agreed in, was their hunting in the same field and for the same game. The truth about this visible world, and all that it contains, was their quarry. This one thing they set themselves to do, but each had his own special gift, and took his own road-each had his own special choice of instruments and means. Any one man combining their essential powers, would have been the epitome of a natural philosopher, in the wide sense of the man who would master the philosophy of nature.

Edward Forbes, who bulks largest at present, and deservedly, for largeness was of his essence, was the observer proper. He saw everything under the broad and searching light of day, white and uncolored, and with an unimpa.s.sioned eye. What he was after were the real appearances of things; _phenomena_ as such; all that seems to be. His was the search after _what is_, over the great field of the world. He was in the best sense a natural historian, an observer and recorder of what is seen and of what goes on, and not less of what has been seen and what has gone on, in this wonderful historic earth of ours, with all its fulness. He was keen, exact, capacious,-tranquil and steady in his gaze as Nature herself. He was, thus far, kindred to Aristotle, to Pliny, Linnaeus, Cuvier, and Humboldt, though the great German, and the greater Stagirite, had higher and deeper spiritual insights than Edward Forbes ever gave signs of. It is worth remembering that Dr. George Wilson was up to his death engaged in preparing his Memoir and Remains for the press. Who will now take up the tale?

Samuel Brown was, so to speak, at the opposite pole-rapid, impatient, fearless, full of pa.s.sion and imaginative power-desiring to divine the essences rather than the appearances of things-in search of the _what_ chiefly in order to question it, make it give up at whatever cost the secret of its _why_; his fiery, projective, subtile spirit, could not linger in the outer fields of mere observation, though he had a quite rare faculty for seeing as well as for looking, which latter act, however, he greatly preferred; but he pushed into the heart and inner life of every question, eager to evoke from it the very secret of itself. Forbes, as we have said, wandered at will, and with a settled purpose and a fine hunting scent, at his leisure, and free and almost indifferent, over the ample fields-happy and joyous and full of work-unenc.u.mbered with theory or with wings, for he cared not to fly.

Samuel Brown, whose wings were perhaps sometimes too much for him, more ambitious, more of a solitary turn, was forever climbing the Mount Sinais and Pisgahs of science, to speak with Him whose haunt they were,-climbing there all alone and in the dark, and with much peril, if haply he might descry the break of day and the promised land; or, to vary the figure, diving into deep and not undangerous wells, that he might the better see the stars at noon, and possibly find Her who is said to lurk there. He had more of Plato, though he wanted the symmetry and persistent grandeur of the son of Ariston. He was, perhaps, liker his own favorite Kepler; such a man in a word as we have not seen since Sir Humphry Davy, whom in many things he curiously resembled, and not the least is this, that the prose of each was more poetical than the verse.

His fate has been a mournful and a strange one, but he knew it, and encountered it with a full knowledge of what it entailed. He perilled everything on his theory; and if this hypothesis-it may be somewhat prematurely uttered to the world, and the full working out of which, by rigid scientific realization, was denied him by years of intense and incapacitating suffering, ending only in death, but the "_relevancy_" of which, to use the happy expression of Dr. Chalmers, we hold him to have proved, and in giving a glimpse of which, he showed, we firmly believe, what has been called that "instinctive grasp which the healthy imagination takes of _possible_ truth",-if his theory of the unity of matter, and the consequent trans.m.u.tability of the now called elementary bodies, were substantiated in the lower but essential platform of actual experiment, this, along with his original doctrine of atoms and their forces, would change the entire face of chemistry, and make a Cosmos where now there is endless agglomeration and confusion,-would, in a word, do for the science of the molecular const.i.tution of matter and its laws of action and reaction at insensible distances, what Newton's doctrine of gravitation has done for the celestial dynamics. For, let it be remembered, that the highest speculation and proof in this department-by such men as Dumas, Faraday, and William Thomson, and others-points in this direction; it does no more as yet perhaps than point, but some of us may live to see "_resurgam_" inscribed over Samuel Brown's untimely grave, and applied with grat.i.tude and honor to him whose eyes closed in darkness on the one great object of his life, and the hopes of whose "unaccomplished years" lie buried with him.

Very different from either, though worthy of and capable of relis.h.i.+ng much that was greatest and best in both, was he whom we all loved and mourn, and who, this day week, was carried by such a mult.i.tude of mourners to that grave, which to his eye had been open and ready for years.

George Wilson was born in Edinburgh in 1818. His father, Mr. Archibald Wilson, was a wine merchant, and died sixteen years ago; his mother, Janet Aitken, still lives to mourn and to remember him, and she will agree with us that it is sweeter to remember him than to have converse with the rest. Any one who has had the privilege to know him, and to enjoy his bright and rich and beautiful mind, will not need to go far to learn where it was that her son George got all of that genius and worth and delightfulness which is transmissible. She verifies what is so often and so truly said of the mothers of remarkable men. She was his first and best _Alma Mater_ and in many senses his last, for her influence over him continued through life. George had a twin brother, who died in early life; and we cannot help referring to his being one of twins, something of that wonderful power of attaching himself, and being personally loved, which was one of his strongest as it was one of his most winning powers. He was always fond of books, and of fun, the play of the mind. He left the High School at fifteen and took to medicine; but he soon singled out chemistry, and, under the late Kenneth Kemp, and our own distinguished Professor of _Materia Medica_, himself a first-cla.s.s chemist, he acquired such knowledge as to become a.s.sistant in the laboratory of Dr. Thomas Graham, now Master of the Mint, and then Professor of Chemistry in University College. So he came out of a thorough and good school, and had the best of masters.

He then took the degree of M. D., and became a Lecturer in Chemistry, in what is now called the extra-academical school of medicine, but which in our day was satisfied with the t.i.tle of private lecturers. He became at once a great favorite, and, had his health and strength enabled him, he would have been long a most successful and popular teacher; but general feeble health, and a disease in the ankle-joint requiring partial amputation of the foot, and recurrent attacks of a serious kind in his lungs, made his life of public teaching one long and sad trial. How n.o.bly, how sweetly, how cheerily he bore all these long baffling years; how his bright, active, ardent, unsparing soul lorded it over his frail but willing body, making it do more than seemed possible, and as it were by sheer force of will ordering it to live longer than was in it to do, those who lived with him and witnessed this triumph of spirit over matter, will not soon forget. It was a lesson to every one of what true goodness of nature, elevated and cheered by the highest and happiest of all motives, can make a man endure, achieve, and enjoy.

As is well known, Dr. Wilson was appointed in 1855 to the newly-const.i.tuted Professors.h.i.+p of Technology, and to the Curators.h.i.+p of the Industrial Museum. The expenditure of thought, of ingenuity, of research, and management-the expenditure, in a word, of himself-involved in originating and giving form of purpose to a scheme so new and so undefined, and, in our view, so undefinable, must, we fear, have shortened his life, and withdrawn his precious and quite singular powers of ill.u.s.trating and adorning, and, in the highest sense, sanctifying and blessing science, from this which seemed always to us his proper sphere. Indeed, in the opinion of some good judges, the inst.i.tution of such a chair at all, and especially in connection with a University such as ours, and the attaching to it the conduct of a great Museum of the Industrial Arts, was somewhat hastily gone into, and might have with advantage waited for and obtained a little more consideration and forethought. Be this as it may, Dr. Wilson did his duty with his whole heart and soul-making a cla.s.s, which was always increasing, and which was at its largest at his death.

We have left ourselves no s.p.a.ce to speak of Dr. Wilson as an author, as an academic and popular lecturer, as a member of learned societies, as a man of exquisite literary powers and fancy, and as a citizen of remarkable public acceptation. This must come from some more careful, and fuller, and more leisurely record of his genius and worth. What he was as a friend it is not for us to say; we only know that when we leave this world we would desire no better memorial than to be remembered by many as George Wilson now is, and always will be. His _Life of Cavendish_ is admirable as a biography, full of life, of picturesque touches, and of realization of the man and of his times, and is, moreover, thoroughly scientific, containing, among other discussions, by far the best account of the great water controversy from the Cavendish point of view. His _Life of John Reid_ is a vivid and memorable presentation to the world of the true lineaments, manner of life, and inmost thought and heroic sufferings, as well as of the n.o.ble scientific achievements of that strong, truthful, courageous, and altogether admirable man, and true discoverer-a genuine follower of John Hunter.

_The Five Gateways of Knowledge_ is a prose poem, a hymn of the finest utterance and fancy-the white light of science diffracted through the crystalline prism of his mind into the colored glories of the spectrum; truth dressed in the iridescent hues of the rainbow, and not the less but all the more true. His other papers in the _British Quarterly_, the _North British Review_, and his last gem on "Paper, Pens, and Ink," in his valued and generous friend Macmillan's first number of his Magazine, are all astonis.h.i.+ng proofs of the brightness, accuracy, vivacity, unweariedness of his mind, and the endless sympathy and affectionate play of his affections with the full round of scientific truth. His essay on "Color Blindness" is, we believe, as perfect a monogram as exists, and will remain likely untouched and unadded to, _factum ad unguem_. As may be seen from these remarks, we regard him not so much as, like Edward Forbes, a great observer and quiet generalizer, or, like Samuel Brown, a discoverer and philosopher properly so called-though, as we have said, he had enough of these two men's prime qualities to understand and relish and admire them. His great quality lay in making men love ascertained and recorded truth, scientific truth especially; he made his reader and hearer _enjoy facts_. He illuminated the Book of Nature as they did the missals of old. His nature was so thoroughly composite, so in full harmony with itself, that no one faculty could or cared to act without calling in all the others to join in full chorus.

To take an ill.u.s.tration from his own science, his faculties interpenetrated and interfused themselves into each other, as the gases do, by a law of their nature. Thus it was that everybody understood and liked and was impressed by him; he touched him at every point. Knowledge was to him no barren, cold essence; it was alive and flushed with the colors of the earth and sky, and all over with light and stars. His flowers-and his mind was full of flowers-were from seeds, and were sown by himself. They were neither taken from other gardens and stuck in rootless, as children do, much less were they of the nature of gumflowers, made with hands, wretched and dry and scentless.

Truth of science was to him a body, full of loveliness, perfection, and strength, in which dwelt the unspeakable Eternal. This, which was the dominant idea of his mind-the goodliness, and not less the G.o.dliness of all science-made his whole life, his every action, every letter he wrote, every lecture he delivered, his last expiring breath, instinct with the one constant idea that all truth, all goodness, all science, all beauty, all gladness are but the expression of the mind and will and heart of the Great Supreme. And this, in his case, was not mysticism, neither was it merely a belief in revealed religion, though no man cherished and believed in his Bible more firmly and cordially than he; it was the a.s.sured belief, on purely scientific grounds, that G.o.d is indeed and in very truth all in all; that, to use the sublime adaptation by poor crazy Smart, the whole creation, visible and invisible, spiritual and material, everything that has being, is-to those who have ears to hear-forever declaring "_Thou Art_," before the throne of the Great I AM.

To George Wilson, to all such men-and this is the great lesson of his life-the heavens are forever telling His glory, the firmament is forever showing forth His handiwork; day unto day, every day, is forever uttering speech, and night unto night is showing knowledge concerning Him. When he considered these heavens, as he lay awake weary and in pain, they were to him the work of His fingers. The moon, walking in brightness, and lying in white glory on his bed-the stars-were by Him ordained. He was a singularly happy, and happy-making man. No one since his boyhood could have suffered more from pain, and languor, and the misery of an unable body. Yet he was not only cheerful, he was gay, full of all sorts of _fun_-genuine fun-and his jokes and queer turns of thought and word were often worthy of Cowper or Charles Lamb. We wish we had them collected. Being, from his state of health and his knowledge of medicine, necessarily "mindful of death," having the possibility of his dying any day or any hour, always before him, and "that undiscovered country" lying full in his view, he must-taking, as he did, the right notion of the nature of things-have had a peculiar intensity of pleasure in the every-day beauties of the world.

"The common sun, the air, the skies, To him were opening Paradise."

They were to him all the more exquisite, all the more altogether lovely, these Pentlands, and well-known rides and places; these rural solitudes and pleasant villages and farms, and the countenances of his friends, and the clear, pure, radiant face of science and of nature, were to him all the more to be desired and blessed and thankful for, that he knew the pallid king at any time might give that not unexpected knock, and summon him away.

_ST. PAUL'S THORN IN THE FLESH: WHAT WAS IT?_

If the 15th verse of the fourth chapter of the Epistle to the Galatians, instead of being taken in a figurative sense, as it generally has been, be understood literally, it will be found to furnish the means of determining, with a tolerably near approach to certainty, the particular nature of the disease under which St. Paul is supposed to have labored, and which he elsewhere speaks of as the "Thorn in his flesh." And that the literal interpretation is the true one, may, I think, be shown, partly from the general scope of the paragraph to which the 15th verse belongs; partly from some peculiarities of expression in it, which could only have been used under an intention that the verse in question should be taken literally; and partly also from the fact that there are statements and allusions elsewhere in the New Testament, which a.s.sert or imply, that St. Paul really was affected in the manner here supposed to be indicated.

"_Brethren, I beseech you_," says the Apostle, "_be as I am; for I am as ye are: ye have not injured me at all. Ye know how through infirmity of the flesh I preached the gospel unto you at the first. And my temptation (trial) which was in my flesh ye despised not, nor rejected; but received me as an angel of G.o.d, even as Christ Jesus._ _Where is then the blessedness ye spake of? for I bear you record, that, if it had been possible, ye would have plucked out your own eyes, and have given them to me._"

The last words of this pa.s.sage, "Ye would have plucked out your own eyes, and have given them to me," have usually been taken in a hyperbolical or proverbial sense, as if a merely general meaning was conveyed, amounting simply to-"There was no sacrifice, however great, which ye would not have made for me." But it is plainly open to inquiry, whether the sense is not of a more special kind; whether (viz.) St. Paul does not here, as in the preceding verses, intend to remind the Galatians of pure matter of fact-to recall to them, not in mere general terms, the depth and warmth of their feelings and professions of regard for him, but to repeat to them perhaps the very words they had used, and to revive in their memories the actual and express import of their desires and anxieties. If this be the case, if it really was a common and habitual thing with them to express a wish that it were possible for them to pluck out their own eyes, and to transfer them to the apostle, the only way of reasonably accounting for so strange and _outre_ a proceeding, is to suppose that St. Paul actually labored either under entire deprivation of vision, or under some severely painful and vexatious disease of the eyes: The meaning being, that so keenly did the Galatians sympathize with the apostle in his affliction, that they would willingly have become his subst.i.tutes by taking all his suffering upon themselves, if only it were possible, by doing so to relieve him.

That there is at least no _prima facie_ objection to this explanation of the words, will, I think, be readily enough admitted. It is perfectly simple and unforced, and it conveys a lively and touching representation of the feelings which would naturally spring up in the minds of a grateful and warm-hearted people, to their great benefactor and friend, who, amidst disease, and pain, and weakness, had made the greatest and most unwearying exertions to communicate to them the invaluable truths of Christianity.

But, in addition to this, it will be found, I think, that under the literal interpretation of the 15th verse, a peculiar point and force belongs to the apostle's appeal, and a closely connected and harmonious meaning is imparted to the whole paragraph, all of which, it seems to me, are lost if the figurative explanation is adhered to. In the previous part of the chapter, St. Paul had been arguing against the foolish predilection which the Galatians had taken up for forms and formalisms and ceremonial observances, and strongly exhorting them to abandon this pernicious and unchristian propensity. And now, in the paragraph quoted, he takes up new ground, and appeals to them by the memory of their old affection for him, to listen to his arguments and entreaties, and to be of one mind with him. The general meaning of what he says is plain enough, but there are difficulties of detail, both in particular expressions, and in the train of thought. The words, for example, "Be as I am, for I am as ye are," at once strike the ear as a peculiar and unusual style to adopt in an invitation to unity of thought and feeling. But if the last clause of the 15th verse be taken literally, I think it will appear that this expression has a special fitness and propriety. The words, "for I am as ye are," imply a reference, I imagine, to his being, in respect of his bodily affliction, _not_ as they were; and what follows is intended to remind them how anxious they were, when their love to him was fresh, to be "as he was,"

even although it would have been necessary to accept bodily pain and mutilation to attain that object. If I am correct in thinking the first clause of the 12th verse, and the last of the 15th, to be thus closely related and corresponsive, it will be seen that they mutually explain each other; and the apostle's argument, as I understand it, may then be thus stated:-If you were so willing and eager, when I was with you, even at the cost of plucking out your eyes, to "be as I am," surely you will hardly refuse me the same thing now in this other matter, wherein there is no such difference between us as to raise any impediment in the way of your compliance, where no such sacrifice as ye were formerly ready to make is required of you, and where all that is asked from you is to give up your false opinions and evil practices, and simply "be as I am" in believing and obeying the truth revealed.

In another respect, the ordinary explanation involves, I think, an unnatural rupture of the continuity of thought, which is completely avoided by the literal interpretation of the pa.s.sage. In the 13th verse, we find the apostle introducing, in a somewhat formal and special manner, the subject of his bodily affliction. "Ye know," he says, "how through infirmity of the flesh I preached the gospel to you at the first." And it cannot but strike the reader as strange that, after this, all he should have to say about the matter, is that the Galatians "despised not nor rejected it." The very vagueness, and merely negative character of this expression, excites a sort of instinctive expectation that he will forthwith proceed to state something more positive and specific. But instead of this we are taught by the common explanation, to suppose that an abrupt transition is at once made from the subject of his "temptation" altogether; the statement about the attachment of the Galatians, instead of becoming more distinct and special, as we naturally expect it to do, suddenly merges into the widest possible generality; and their affection, instead of being described by any further reference to the facts of its manifestation, is now represented to us under a strong (it is true) but rather fantastic figure, which leaves an impression of its character and aspect just as undecided and imperfect as before.

But a closer examination of the words at once throws doubt on this conception of their meaning. In the 13th and 14th verses, the a.s.sociated ideas are, the apostle's disease or affliction, and the affectionate concern of the Galatians with reference to it. In the 15th verse, the reference to the Galatians' display of affection is still continued, and now the idea connected with it is, that of their giving him their plucked-out eyes. But this is not necessarily a change of a.s.sociation, for, as already intimated, their plucking out their eyes and giving them to the apostle, naturally and readily suggests the thought that their design was, "if it had been possible," to supply them to him as subst.i.tutes for his own, under the a.s.sumption of the latter being diseased or defective. If this be the reference, then the missing idea reappears, the lost a.s.sociation is recovered; bodily affliction in the apostle, and the affection of the Galatians towards him, are still the connected thoughts, the only change being just what might naturally be expected to take place as the discourse proceeded, viz.:-that the ideas are more distinctly developed, and that what was previously alluded to in general terms, is now, not indeed directly stated, but specifically indicated and implied. The "temptation" in the one verse, and the disease hinted by implication in the form a.s.sumed by the pa.s.sionate sympathy of the Galatians, are therefore identified; and thus, the whole paragraph, from the 12th to the 15th verse, instead of presenting an agglomeration of abrupt transitions and disconnected thoughts, evolves a close, natural, and continuous meaning throughout.

Something more, however, is required than merely to show that the interpretation which I propose exhibits a better arrangement, and connection of the thoughts. The apostle may have written in haste, and that explanation of his meaning which attributes to him imperfect connectedness, may after all be the correct one. I shall therefore proceed to inquire whether some further light may not be thrown upon the subject, by a more minute investigation than I have yet attempted, of particular words and turns of expression in the pa.s.sage.

The phrase, "I bear you record," could only have been used with propriety in reference to a positive _fact;_ something that the apostle had actually witnessed. He could not have employed this language in announcing a mere _inference_ (as the common interpretation would make it) from the conduct of the Galatians towards him, as to the strength and extent of their regard; for a man's testimony can only bear reference to facts which have actually come under his observation. The apostle's language, let it be observed, is not the declaration of a _belief_ that the Galatians would have plucked out their own eyes in his behalf, if circ.u.mstances had arisen to make such a sacrifice necessary; it is the announcement of a _testimony_ (a?t???), on the a.s.sumption that those circ.u.mstances had actually arisen. And the testimony is not to the effect that the Galatians entertained strong affection to him, and as a consequence of that affection; that he is a.s.sured they would have plucked out their eyes for him (for these must have been the terms of his declaration, upon the ordinary understanding of the pa.s.sage); but it is direct to the point, that if it had only been possible, "they would have plucked out their own eyes, and have given them to him." Such language, it appears to me, would be absurd, unless we are to understand by it, that the Galatians had actually expressed a wish, and demonstrated a desire to perform the very act which the apostle speaks of! And if so, I think it is obviously necessary to infer that some circ.u.mstance must have existed to give occasion to a wish of so peculiar a kind, in the minds of those who were attached to the apostle's person; and the only circ.u.mstance which I can conceive of as calculated to excite such a wish, is St. Paul's suffering under some painful affection of the eyes.

The expression, "if it had been possible," has also, I think, a peculiar significance. If the sentence in the 15th verse, beginning, "I bear you record," &c., is thoughtfully considered, it will be seen that three suppositions may be made as to the apostle's meaning and reference: _1st_, The language may be understood (as has usually been done) in a figurative or proverbial sense, and as containing no allusion to any really existing circ.u.mstances; _2d_, It may be taken literally, but with reference rather to what _might_ happen than to circ.u.mstances actually existing; as if the writer had said, "If I were to lose my eyes, I bear you record that you would willingly have plucked out yours to supply their place;" or, _3d_, The words may be understood as giving a plain matter-of-fact representation of what the Galatians really thought and felt in reference to the apostle's bodily affliction. Now, I think it may be made out quite distinctly that the words "if it had been possible," could only have been used under the last of these hypotheses; for in no other case would the contingency of _possibility_ have presented itself to the writer's mind. If, for example, we are to understand the language as literal, but with reference to the _future_ or _conceivable_, rather than the present or actual, the expression would obviously have been,-"I bear you record that if it had been _necessary_" or, "if such a thing had been required of you for my benefit, ye would have plucked out," &c.[52] If, on the other hand, we suppose the language to be figurative or proverbial, no contingency would have been mentioned at all, for it is characteristic of such language that it is always absolute and unconditional. For example, in the expressions, "If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee;" "If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee;" every one at once recognizes the purely proverbial or figurative character of the language, and this simply because its form is absolute and unconditioned. The moment you introduce anything like a condition, and make the removal of the sinning eye or the offending hand dependent upon some circ.u.mstance, you are compelled to understand the words according to their strictly literal meaning. Thus, if our Lord, instead of saying what he did in this case, had used such an expression as this,-"If thy right hand offend thee, and if the tendency to offend be insuperable, cut it off;" or, "If thy right eye offend thee, and its extraction would not endanger life, pluck it out," it is clear that the expressions could only have been taken in their strictly literal sense.

So, in the words under review, it is also obvious that the introduction of the "if it be possible" takes the phrase out of the cla.s.s of figures or proverbs, and necessitates its interpretation in a close, literal, matter-of-fact manner.

[52] This seems to have been the view taken by Calvin, but with that logical acuteness which was characteristic of him, he at the same time perceived that it was inaccordant with the expression, "if it had been possible." In his commentary upon the pa.s.sage, therefore, he subst.i.tutes "_si opus sit_"

for the apostle's words; thus, of course, a.s.suming that St.

Paul had adopted an inapt phrase to express his meaning. But I need scarcely say that such a mode of interpretation is altogether inadmissible, the only legitimate rule being to take the words of the text as they stand, and thence to infer the circ.u.mstances or conditions under which they were used.

Perhaps a slight incident which lately occurred in my presence will better ill.u.s.trate what I wish to convey than any elaborate exposition could do. One day, a poor simple-hearted married couple, from the country, called on a medical friend of mine, to consult him about a complaint in the eyes of the husband, which seemed to threaten him with total blindness. The wife entered at great length into all the symptoms of the complaint, and was extremely voluble in her expressions of sympathy and of anxiety that something should be done to remove the disease. It was difficult to repress a smile at the scene, and yet it was touching too; and the doctor, looking in the old woman's honest affectionate face, quietly said, "I suppose you would give him one of your own eyes, _if you could_:" "That I would, sir," was the immediate answer. Now, it is clear that my friend's words could only have been used under the particular circ.u.mstances which called them forth. Had the affection of the old woman been exhibited upon some other occasion than her husband's threatened blindness, he _might_ have said (though, of course, the allusion to eyes at all would not very naturally or probably have suggested itself), "I suppose you would give him one of your own eyes _if he required it_," but he could never have used the words, "_if you could_." The application of this to the language used by St. Paul is sufficiently obvious.