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DIVINITY SCHOOL
TROWBRIDGE LIBRARY

THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN OF
THE NEW TESTAMENT

WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Representative Men of the Bible. First
Series — Adam to Job. Third Edition. Crown
8vo, cloth, 6s.
The Representative Men of the Bible. Second
Series — Ishmael to Daniel. Fifth thousand.
Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
Sidelights from Patmos. Third Edition.
Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
Studies of the Portrait of Christ. Eighth
Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
Studies of the Portrait of Christ. Second
Volume, completing the work. Fourth Edi
tion. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
The Lady Ecclesia. An Autobiography.
Second Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
LONDON : HODDER AND STOUGHTON
27 Paternoster Row

The Representative Men
of the New Testament
By George Math es on
D.D. LL.D. F.R.S.E.
Formerly Minister of the Tarish of
St. Bernard's, Edinburgh

London
Hodder and St ought on
27 Paternoster Row
1905

Edinburgh : T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty

PREFACE
I HAVE lately published two volumes dealing
with the representative men of the Old Testa
ment — the men who therein represent sections
of universal humanity. They embraced a series
of studies neither historical nor critical, but
mental. I imagined myself standing in a gallery
looking at a collection of portraits, and setting
myself to analyse these as they are delineated.
The aim was to take them just as they are
presented to us, and, without inquiring whence
or how they come, to find the special thought
which each reveals. The kindly reception of
the effort has emboldened me to issue a simi
lar volume of New Testament representatives.
Strictly speaking, the new gallery is not a
continuation of the old. The old exhibits
phases of character j the new, revolutions of
character. Nevertheless, in the latter as much

vi PREFACE
as in the former, we expect to find that each
portrait embodies a distinct thought; and it
is this thought which we seek for. The studies
are again mental — not critical nor historical.
We take the figures as they stand before us.
We simply put one question: Assuming the
authenticity of the narratives and letters, what
is the message which each life brings ? About
the historical character of the portraits, I have
myself no doubt ; but it will be admitted by
all schools that, if revelation there be, it must
ultimately lie in the thought. I have only to
add that, as in the previous volumes, I have
given the book a semi-devotional aspect by
closing each chapter with a short invocation
or prayer.
G. M.
Edinburgh, 1905.

CONTENTS CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION,

CHAPTER V
PETER THE EMBOLDENED, .

PAGE I

CHAPTER II
JOHN THE EXPANDED,  25
CHAPTER III
JOHN THE SELF-SURRENDERED, .... 48
CHAPTER IV
NATHANAEL THE INVIGORATED, . . . 71

93

CHAPTER VI
NICODEMUS THE INSTRUCTED, . . . -US
CHAPTER VII
THOMAS THE CONVINCED,  1 37
CHAPTER VIII
PHILIP THE DISILLUSIONED, . . . . 160
vii

viii CONTENTS
CHAPTER IX
PAGE
MATTHEW THE EXALTED,  1 83
CHAPTER X
ZACCHEUS THE CONSCIOUS-STRUCK, . . .205
CHAPTER XI
JAMES THE SOFTENED,  227
CHAPTER XII
BARNABAS THE CHASTENED, .... 249
CHAPTER XIII
MARK THE STEADIED,  272
CHAPTER XIV
CORNELIUS THE TRANSPLANTED, . . . 296
CHAPTER XV
TIMOTHY THE DISCIPLINED, . . . .319
CHAPTER XVI
PAUL THE ILLUMINATED, ..... 342

CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
There are moments in the history of this
world which may be called moments of in
gathering. Their mission is to collect the
experiences of the past and bind them into
unity. The most striking of all such moments
is the advent of Christ. To the men who
witnessed that advent it presented an appear
ance which they have described by one word,
' fulness.' In the heart of the Roman Empire
there stood forth a man who resembled in
His nature nothing so much as that empire
itself. Rome was not a country of the earth ;
she was a country that had become the earth.
She had gathered into her bosom the once
separate lands and bound them by a silver
chain; she represented to the view of the
spectator not a nation, but the human race.
A

2 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
So was it with the man Christ Jesus. He
was a mirror of that empire into which He
was born. If Rome united in her constitution
all dominions and powers, Jesus united in His
person all types of character. The rivers of
every land had run into this human sea. The
earnestness of Judah was there ; the buoyancy
of Greece was there ; the mysticism of India
was there; the practicalness of China was
there ; the legal acumen of Rome herself was
there. There dwelt the self-restraint of the
Stoic, the easy mind of the Epicurean, the
winged imagination of the Platonist. There
reposed side by side things which naturally
fly apart — the simplicity of Galilee and the
subtlety of Jerusalem, the gravity of the East
and the sparkle of the West, the devotion of
the Brahman to the soul, and that care for
the wants of the body which constitutes
the essence of the European life.
If you wish to see the fulness of the life of
Christ just put to yourself one question. Re
tracing the steps through that Gallery of the
Old Testament which we have traversed, and

INTRODUCTION 3
taking at random any great quality expressed
by any figure, simply ask yourself, Is not this
equally represented in the life of Jesus ? Has
Enoch a vision of immortality ; Christ pro
fesses to reveal life eternal. Is Noah a preacher
of righteousness ; Christ calls sinners to re
pentance. Has Abraham a dream of universal
empire ; Christ claims to found a kingdom of
God. Does Isaac represent home-life ; so
does Christ at Bethany. Does Jacob aspire
to a priesthood ; Christ offers Himself for a
world's sin. Is Moses the law-giver on
Sinai ; Christ is the law-giver on Hermon.
Is David chivalrous to his foes; Christ for
gives His enemies. I do not know a phase
of Old Testament heroism which has not been
reproduced in the Picture of Jesus. The
calm wisdom of Solomon is here, side by side
with the flashing of Elijah's fire. The fine
courtesy of Boaz is here, hand in hand with
Elisha's denunciation of wrong. The daring
fearlessness of Daniel is here, blended in
equal measure with Job's patient endurance.
The humanitarian sweep of Isaiah is here, but

4 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
along with it there is something which such
universal sympathy is apt to exclude — the
capacity for individual friendship which marks
the soul of Jonathan.
It seems to me that such a mode of ex
perimenting on the Sacred Gallery would be a
real test of 'the fulness of Him that filleth all
in all.' One who was almost a contemporary
of the Galilean ministry speaks of Christ as
destined in the future to gather all things to
Himself. But, from an artistic point of view,
this gathering was already completed. The
Portrait of Jesus is not the representative of
a phase of humanity ; it is humanity itself. He
unites in one face and form the faces and
forms of the whole past Gallery. He repre
sents no special quality ; He expresses all
qualities and He expresses all specially — in
a pronounced degree. It is written, ' When
the fulness of the time was come God sent
His Son.' The fulness of the time was the
time for fulness. It was the age when the
rivers were to be ripe for being gathered into
the sea, when the planets were to be ready

INTRODUCTION 5
for incorporation in the solar beam. The
human side of Christianity was to be not the
revelation of a man, but the revelation of Man.
I read in the Book of Genesis that 'in the
beginning God created the heavens and the
earth' — that the first thing on which He
gazed was not a part but the whole. So has
it been with the genesis of Christianity. The
first thing which appeared to the eye of the
spectator was its entire heaven and its entire
earth. Future years would exhibit the separate
items — sun, moon, and star — herb, plant, and
tree. But the morning of Christianity was the
union of all things. All gifts and graces were
embraced in a single life — the man Christ
Jesus. The colours of that life, which one day
were to be distributed among different flowers,
were beheld at first concentrated in a rainbow.
The garment which to-morrow was to be
parted among many bore to-day the aspect
of a single robe whose richness enwrapped one
human spirit, and whose folds were covering
one individual form.
In the primitive stage of village life we

6 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
commonly find all commodities embraced in
a single store. People go there for the most
unlike things — daily food, medicine, millinery,
house -letting, carriage-driving, registration,
banking, the offices of the smith and the car
penter — perhaps even of the lawyer and the
preacher. The time will come when each of
these will form its separate craft. But in the
primitive village they are apt to be vested in
a single life — a life of which we might say, in
adaptation of the words of Scripture, ' of its
fulness have we all received.' Now, this is
precisely the case of primitive Christianity.
All its varied glories which one day are to be
disseminated are heaped up in a single soul.
Like the nebular fire-cloud, it holds the fulness
of all things. There sleeps the summary of
the past ; there lies the germ of the future.
Experiences the most diverse are there. The
uncanonical Melchisedek and the priestly
Aaron, the strong Ishmael and the tender
Abel, the optimistic Joseph and the sad
Jeremiah, the child Samuel and the manly
Joshua, the expectant Caleb and the retro-

INTRODUCTION 7
spective Hezekiah, the dependent Mephi-
bosheth and the all-conquering Gideon — they
each rest there. It would seem as if the river
of Paradise had for a moment gathered back
into her bosom those streams from which she
had parted, and revealed within the compass
of one garden the manifold grace of God.
Christianity began where all life begins — in a
single cell — 'enfolding within the walls of a
seemingly insignificant dwelling the nucleus of
a new heaven and a new earth.
And now I come to a crucial question. I
hear the reader say : ' If this Portrait of Jesus
has gathered up the past, and if the future is
to be simply a repetition of its glories, why do
you speak of new representative men ! Nay,
on such a principle, why should you even
speak of a New Testament! What is new
about it ! You have shown in the Old Gallery
every conceivable quality depicted that can
belong to a human soul. You show at the
opening of the Christian dispensation these
qualities united in a single life. You tell us
that in the coming section of the Gallery the

8 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
qualities thus united are again to be distri
buted in separate individual portraits. In
such a process where is there any room for
novelty ! Is it not simply a repetition of old
qualities! Do we not get out of the box
exactly what we put in ! Has the Old Testa
ment Gallery left any phase of mind without
a record ! How shall we distinguish between
the fire of an Elijah and the fire of a Peter !
How shall we discriminate between the un
selfishness of an Abraham and the unselfish
ness of a Paul ! How shall we draw the line
between the friendship of a Jonathan and the
friendship of a John ! ' These are crucial
questions, and they are pertinent questions.
They await every man who attempts to deal
with the representative men of the Bible.
If Christ is at once the flower of the past
and the bud of the future, then the qualities
of the future must be simply the qualities of
the past. And if it be so, is not our pro
gress merely a circle, our development only
a dream ! It seems a misnomer to speak of
'the new man' — to say that if a man is in

INTRODUCTION 9
Christ he is 'a new creature.' Where is the
novelty if I have simply climbed the wall
to see the fields of childhood ! Would it not
be more correct to reverse the words of Paul
and say, ' To be in Christ is to retrace our
yesterday ; new things have passed away and
all things have become old ' !
But let us look deeper and this impression
itself will pass away. What is the account
which the New Testament Gallery gives of its
own development? — by that it ought to be
judged, by that it should stand or fall. Now,
it so happens that a spectator of this gallery
has given us a very clear view of what in his
opinion its figures were meant to represent.
He says, ' It was worthy of Him of whom are
all things and to whom are all things, in
bringing many sons unto glory, to make the
captain of their salvation perfect through
sufferings.' Here, by the glance of one
piercing eye, is the nature of the New Gallery
revealed ! It is not a new assemblage of
qualities ; it is a new mode of acquiring them.
In the old dispensation these qualities were

10 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
the gifts of Nature. Men were born with
them ; they were the native soil of the heart.
They came to each soul as naturally as air
comes, as food comes, as pastime comes. But
in the new dispensation — in the section of the
Gallery which was about to open, there was
to be a change of ground. The qualities
which had been native to the soul were to
become the fruit of struggle. Men were no
longer to be born with them ; they were to
win them — to attain them through conflict,
to reach them by suffering. The difference
between the Old Gallery and the New is the
difference between temperament and grace ;
temperament is a planting, grace is a sup
planting. Joseph is an optimist and Peter is
an optimist ; but the optimism of Joseph is
very different from the optimism of Peter.
Joseph was hopeful from disposition — he
found the flowers in his cradle and he trea
sured them in his heart ; Peter was hopeful
as the result of experience — he began life
amid the briars and he transformed them into
flowers. This is a typical instance. It ex-

INTRODUCTION n
presses in a single sentence my whole view
of the difference between the New Gallery
and the Old. In coming to Christ we are
coming to the winepress. We are approach
ing a transforming process. We are entering
upon a stage in which character is to be
built, not born. We are coming to a period
in which the wild flower is to give place to
the flower of cultivation, and where a kingdom
which belonged to hereditary transmission is
to be won by the power of the sword.
Here, then, is the nature of the New Evangel
— perfection through suffering — the attain
ment of a quality as the result of struggle.
It would not in the least minimise the differ
ence between the two Galleries if you could
prove that the gentleness of Ruth was as
perfect as the gentleness of John. The gentle
ness of Ruth originates in a different source
from the gentleness of John. The former was
a birthright ; the latter was a conquest. The
former was a gift of nature ; the latter was
a trophy of grace. The former was a spon
taneous breath of the morning; the latter

12 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
was a delicious fragrance which had been
gathered in the afternoon. Christianity
is perfection through suffering, excellence
through suffering. Even where its fruits
are less beautiful than the fruits of Judaism,
they are more precious ; they can stand the
storm. Judaism shrank from the storm ; its
virtues tended to wither before the blast.
But the virtues of Christianity were to be
brought upon the blast. They were to come
to the soul on the wings of the wind. They
were to be the product not of spring but
of autumn, not of hereditary bias but of
stern experience. Christian faith demanded
a cloud. Christian courage demanded a
fear. Christian love demanded an impedi
ment. Christian peace demanded a struggle.
Christian purity demanded a meeting with the
tempter in the wilderness.
Now, in the light of this contrast, I shall
look at the New Testament Gallery from a
different standpoint to that from which I
surveyed the Old. In the previous volumes
each portrait was accompanied by an adjective

INTRODUCTION 13
expressing its quality. I shall now assign
to each portrait, not a descriptive adjective,
but a descriptive verb — a verb indicating the
particular influence which has been exerted
over the man and which has transformed
the man. I should say that in this world
there are always the two classes — the men
represented by the adjective, and the men
represented by the verb ; the one are the sons
of nature, the other the sons of grace. The
Old Gallery represents the first; upon the
face of its portraits is stamped the impress
of a quality. But the New Gallery opens
another sphere. Here the faces of the men
reveal, not the quality, but the action. The
stamp which distinguishes these is not so
much a possession as a struggle. We behold
some of them advancing to the battle, some
in the heat of the fight, some returning from
victory ; but all equally give the impression
of a life being moulded by conflict. The
watchword of this gallery is, ' Ye must become
as little children.' The stress lies not on the
word 'children' but on the word 'become.'

14 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Childhood is a natural possession of all men,
and its flowers may grow in every field. But
if childhood be lost and won again, it is no
longer a mere gift of nature ; it is a triumph
of grace. It is a pearl of great price from the
simple fact that a price is paid for it, a sacrifice
made for it. To be a guileless man under
the fig-tree may be beautiful, but it is the
beauty of a star ; to be guileless amid the
haunts of Nazareth, is the indication of a
higher force of character — it is the beauty of
a soul. It may seem a strange thing that the
struggle should have come in an age of peace.
The dawn of Christianity was on a summer
morning. It came when the political sky was
clear. The songs of Bethlehem that pro
claimed goodwill among men had already
in a measure been realised. The earlier ages
had been times of turbulence ; the immediately
succeeding ages were to be times of turbulence
again. But this was a calm between two
whirlwinds — short-lived, but very real. Men
for an hour had beat their swords into plough-

INTRODUCTION 15
shares and their spears into pruning-hooks,
and it seemed to many as if they would learn
the art of war no more. Such was the age
into which Christ was born. Is it not a
singular thing that this, of all times, should
have been the day of moral struggle — the
day when the flowers of the heart did not
spring spontaneously ! We should have ex
pected that the years of war would have been
the years of moral crisis — that the hours of
danger and terror and sword would have been
the hours in which the inward lives of men
would have undergone their vital change.
Yet, in this expectation, I think we are
guided by an erroneous idea. Is it the case
that the times of outward war are the times
of inward conflict? I do not think so. To
my mind, the struggles of the soul have
always been deepest in the ages of peace.
The times of war leave no leisure for looking
within. They bring forth brilliant qualities,
but they bring them forth without tillage, and
they maintain them without the consciousness
of their possessor. The times of physical

1 6 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
danger are like the mists in the Book of
Genesis which were sent up to water the
ground. They indeed water the ground, but
they are apt to hide the process of their own
working. Before a man can look into himself,
you must clear away the outward mist. Danger
is unfavourable to introspection ; even a boy
at school will forget his answer if you hold
the rod over him. The truth must be spoken :
Peace, and not war, is the vivifier of this
world. I used to think it an anticlimax when
I read the prophet's longing for the day when
the soldier should become a ploughman ; but
that was because I thought the age of the
soldier was the age of deeper evolution. I
know better now. The real struggle of life
begins when the mind is at leisure from its
surroundings. It is when a man rests from
his outward troubles that he begins to strive
with himself. Christ said that He came not
to send peace, but a sword. Yes ; and He
sent the inward sword just because it was a
time of outward peace. Had Caesar been at
war with the world Christ could never have

INTRODUCTION 17
waged war in the soul. The war in the soul
demands a summer day — a day in which we
are not molested from without. Christ tells
His followers to pray that their flight be not
in the winter, and He says well. Winter
drives back into the old path and arrests the
upward tendency. The misfortunes of life
require all our energies for themselves ; to
turn these energies inward we need a voice
upon the outward sea, ' Peace, be still ! '
But there is a second characteristic of this
coming Christian age which is well worthy
of attention. Not only is it to be a period
of inward transformation but of rapid trans
formation. This quality of the Messianic age
had been anticipated by far-seeing minds. I
do not think we attach the real meaning to
the prophetic words of the later Isaiah, ' I the
Lord will hasten it in its time.' We commonly
understand the saying to mean that the time
intervening till the Messiah comes will be
short. To my mind, that is not what the
Prophet desires to say. I understand him to
proclaim his conviction that after the Messiah,
B

18 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
lias come things will move at a double-quick
march. The idea is, not that the coming of
the kingdom will be accelerated, but that,
when the kingdom has actually arisen, there
will be times of acceleration. It is equivalent
to saying, ' In the days of the Messiah God
will cause all things to travel at a rapid pace.'
Now, we all know that there are times of
acceleration in the history of this world — times
in which, to use a Bible phrase, a nation is
born in a day. Events to which we looked
forward as involving the march of centuries
are seen to spring up in a night. Develop
ments of character whose completion we pre
dicted for the end of years are effected by the
heat of a single summer. Lives which we
thought would require a series of incarnations
to perfect them are made to flower out by one
drastic experience, and the work which natur
ally would have belonged to days is finished
and culminated by the pressure of an hour.
Now, the advent of Christ is one of these
times. It is a season of accelerated move
ments. The men of the Old Testament grow ;

INTRODUCTION 19
the men of the New flash. For, what is the
spectacle which the Christian Gallery reveals ?
It is a series of figures rapidly discarding their
original costume and appearing in a garb of
contrary mould. We catch the momentary
glimpse of a fiery persecutor — it is Saul of
Tarsus ; we turn aside for an instant, and,
when next we look, we are in the presence
of a son of charity. We see a man flying
from the post of duty because it is the post
of danger — it is Simon Peter ; we avert our
eyes in disgust. The next moment the man
stands before us in an opposite vesture :
instead of shunning duty through fear of
danger, he is almost making danger itself a
duty. We behold a rather narrow Churchman,
devoted to externals and eager for ecclesias
tical power — it is John, son of Zebedee. We
divert our gaze for a moment toward other
things. By and by we look again, and lo,
the man has lost his formalism, lost his
ecclesiasticism, lost his pride, and is found
reclining on the bosom of love !
How shall we account for this? Shall

20 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
we say that it is magical ? No ; there has
not been one step omitted from the process
of normal development. What has happened
is that the development has been quickened.
The stages of the process have not been
abridged, but they have been hurried on.
The kindling of the flower has been acceler
ated by the influence of a special atmosphere.
What is that atmosphere ? What should we
expect it to be ? Do we know of any influence
which has a special power of accelerating?
Yes — the contact with a great personality.
I do not know of anything in the world
which has such power to hasten the steps of
the mind. A man may live for a whole
lifetime amid the loveliest and grandest
scenery the eye can dwell on, and he may
remain at the end as stolid, as dull, as
lethargic as when first he saw the light. But
let that man meet with another man — a
higher man, a man of piercing brain and
potent heart and mesmeric attraction — you
will see in a week an absolutely radical
change. The eye will glisten, the step will

INTRODUCTION 21
lighten, the face will brighten ; it will be
like the dawning of an inward day. Nature
has lofty thoughts for those who are already
lofty, but she cannot speak down — cannot
address her message to a dormant mind.
This is precisely what a high soul can do.
The higher it is, the easier for that soul to
speak down. The deepest student of a sub
ject will best educate the novice, and will
most quickly educate the novice. There is
no influence so accelerating as a human in
fluence ; one day in its courts is better than
a thousand days in the courts of visible
nature. And the men of Galilee had come under
a human influence. They had long been
under the influence of inspiring scenery, that
is to say, of scenery which would have inspired
cultivated minds ; yet it had failed to move
them from their rustic apathy. But suddenly
a man appeared ! In the midst of the 'field
there stood forth an extraordinary presence !
We may call him by what name we will —
teacher, preacher, reformer, philanthropist;

22 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
his immediate influence was something dis
tinct from any of these. It was not what he
taught, not what he preached, not what he
amended ; it was his creation of the sense
of wonder. Human intelligence begins not
with an act of understanding, but with the
feeling that there is something which is not
understood. The first step in every upward
development is the sense of wonder ; until
that has come, we are dormant. The earliest
power of Jesus was His waking the men of
Galilee to wonder. He did for these men
what the hills could not do, what the woods
could not do, what the stars could not
do ; He made them ask questions. It is
the question, not the answer, that is the
note of dawn. My milestones lie in my
mysteries — not in my acquirements. Galilee
struck a new hour when it cried, ' What
manner of man is this ! ' It knocked at its
first gate of wonder. It learned for the first
time that there was something it could see
and not perceive, something it could hear and
not understand. That sense of ignorance was

INTRODUCTION 23
worth all the knowledge in the world. It
was the first leap out of the darkness, the
earliest emergence into light. The dove had
begun to move on the face of the waters, and
its very unrest suggested the promise of a
new land.

QON of Man, Thou hast the key to the
*— ' Second Gallery — nay, Thou art the
key! In Thee alone I learn the secret of
the world's unrest. Thou Thyself art the
secret. We speak of the waters being stilled
by Thy coming; nay, it was Thy coming
that stirred the waters. The faces of the
New Gallery through which I am to pass are
all the faces of struggling men ; but their
struggle comes from light, not darkness ; they
have seen Thee ! They have lost their primi
tive satisfaction. There is a far look-out in
the eyes, as if they sought something not
here, as if they heard the murmuring of a
distant sea. It is because they have seen
Thee ! Thy glory has left a cloud upon the

24 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
common day. The lily of the field is less
fair. The song of the bird is less buoyant.
The scent of the hay is less sweet. The
blue of the sky is less pure. The bosom of
the sea is less calm. It is all from sight of
Thee\ Thy sheen has thrown all things into
shade. Thy radiance has broken their rest.
Thy beauty has tarnished their beam. Thy
sweetness has blunted their savour. They
have faded in front of Thy flower ; they have
vanished in touch of Thy voice ; they have
paled in the power of Thy presence ; they
have melted in the blaze of Thy music. The
men of this New Gallery are less content with
wood and field; but it is because their eyes
have gazed on a higher loveliness — the bright
ness of Thy face !

CHAPTER II
JOHN THE EXPANDED
On the threshold of the New Gallery we are
met by a portentous figure popularly known
as John the Baptist. He was the earliest
product of the influence of that Great Light
which was about to transform the world. In
order of time he is the first Christian. He
discerned the greatness of Jesus when, out
wardly, Jesus was not great. He was the
earliest who fixed his eyes upon the miracle
of Christ's character. Nay, I am disposed to
go further; with the exception, I think, of
Thomas, he is probably the only man of the
primitive band who was originally attracted
to Jesus by the beauty of His moral nature
alone. Neither Peter nor James nor the
other John nor Andrew nor Philip nor
Nathanael seems to have been at first
so attracted ; they embraced the hope of a
26

26 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
physical Messiah. But this man cried, ' Be
hold the Lamb of God ! ' It was indeed a
voice crying in the wilderness. There were
very few in the age of Jesus who could appre
ciate the miracle of a sinless life. Show them
a wonderful boy in the home of Nazareth — a
boy who can tell thoughts before they are
spoken, calculate figures as soon as they are
stated, get answers to prayers the instant they
are offered — the home of Nazareth will be
thronged to suffocation. But tell them that
within that house there lives a thoroughly
good child, a child of unique goodness — tell
them that through all the years of his con
sciousness he has never been known to depart
from a lamblike gentleness, never been seen
to deviate from a pure affection, never been
observed to waver in an unselfish spirit — you
will attract no crowd around the cottage door.
The traveller will pause not to wonder, the
spectator will wait not to verify ; it will seem
to the world an ordinary, a commonplace thing.
It is the glory of John the Baptist that
he perceived the miracle of Nazareth. This

JOHN THE EXPANDED 27
man saw the wonder precisely in the one
spot where his contemporaries could see
nothing. Alone of all the men in the New
Gallery this man is first attracted and domi
nated by that life of Christ which preceded
outward wonders — His life in the home. He
had seen no outpouring of the wine at Cana.
He had beheld no cleansing of the temple at
Jerusalem. He had witnessed no healing at
the pool of Bethesda. He had experienced
no glimmer of glory on the Mount of Trans
figuration. He had not even listened to the
words of wisdom which have immortalised the
Hill of Hermon. His vision was only of the
child.1 The spirit of Jesus had to him taken
the form of a dove. The kingdom of Christ
which he had seen was the kingdom over
Himself in the nursery. He had marked Him
out as the future Messiah on altogether unique
grounds. He had demanded a test that could
be fulfilled in Nazareth. He had asked no
prodigies. He had exacted no feats of prowess.
1 He seems, on account of his desert life, to have lost sight
of Him in His manhood ; see John i. 33.

28 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
He had required no evidence of supernatural
knowledge. He had asked sinlessness — a
blameless record in the cottage home. By
His sustaining of that test, by His ability to
pass through that ordeal, the Christ of the
Baptist should stand or fall.
I have laid great stress on this point
because, if I am not mistaken, we are often
prone to take an erroneous view of John
the Baptist. We figure a wild man of the
woods, half savage and wholly physical — a
man whose Christ was of the earth earthy,
whose hopes were centred on an outward
glory, whose cry was for the carnal, whose
faith was in the flesh. We think of him with
a kindly patronage — as wonderfully good for
the dawn. We insist on allowance being made
for him. It would be too bad, we say, to
compare his rise with the rising of such lights
as Peter and the sons of Zebedee. These men
saw the Christ full-grown ; this man had only
the tradition of His Nazareth; how can we
expect the summer from the spring, why look
to dawn for the brightness of the day !

JOHN THE EXPANDED 29
Now, on such an opinion the view I have
been advocating falls like a clap of thunder.
For, according to my reading of John the
Baptist, this representative of the earliest
Christianity is the least primitive of all the
Christians. So far from contrasting unfavour
ably with the apostles, he actually begins
where they end. The latest word of these
apostles is not the outward miracle but the
blameless life ; it may be said of every one of
them that to their autumn years ' the Lamb is
all the glory.' But that can be said of the
Baptist's spring. He antedated their experi
ence. While they were hunting after a sign
of the flesh, he was pursuing a sign of the
spirit. While they sought an eagle, he followed
the track of a dove. While they waited for
the strength of a lion, he placed all his hopes
in the spotlessness of a lamb.
The truth is, the original defect of John the
Baptist was of exactly the opposite nature to
that commonly attributed to him. So far
from beginning as a wild man of the woods,
the thing he lacked was just the forest free-

30 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
dom. In his morning he was no son of liberty.
He had the most exalted view of what it is
to be a Christian — a more exalted view than
any of his contemporaries ; but for that very
reason he would make no allowances. He
was a red-hot revivalist, and his revivalism
admitted no compromise. What he required
was not enlightenment ; it was expansion.
Strange as it may seem, I hold that what all
religious youth requires is not enlightenment
but expansion. We think of youth as the bird
of the wilderness flying reckless from bough
to bough and destined to get its wings
clipped in the zenith of the day. That is a
very good picture of physical youth, but it is
not religious youth. Religious youth has
exactly the opposite development. It is no
bird of the wilderness ; it is afraid to fly. It
is too intense to be broad ; it settles on a
branch and dwells there. It sees the fire
burning in a single bush ; it hears the voice
calling from only one tree. Its wings may be
expected to-morrow, but its weights are for
to-day. Its path is a narrow path, its view is

JOHN THE EXPANDED 31
a limited view ; it sees through a glass darkly
and it thinks it sees in full.
There are, in my opinion, two characteristics
of .the narrowness of religious youth, and they
are both found in this figure of the Baptist.
The first I would describe as the inability to
wait, in other words, a tendency to see the
future without intermediate view. This man
points to his Christ and cries, ' His fan is in
His hand ! ' — ready to be used. Youth habit
ually scorns the intermediate. It is commonly
reckoned a proof of its expansiveness. In
truth it is the reverse ; it is its inability to fix
the eye on any point but one. When a child
cries, ' Not to-morrow, nor to-morrow, nor
to-morrow, but the next day ! ' what does it
mean? It is really making an attempt to
annihilate from its thought the intermediate
days as if they were so much useless lumber.
That little word ' not ' is equivalent to a sup
pression. It declares that the days between
Monday and Friday are to be discounted,
ignored, put on one side, and that the string
of hope should draw the ends so close together

32 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
as to prevent the impression of anything inter
mediate at all.
And this is the initial position of John the
Baptist. He has a child's inability to wait.
His conception of the Messiah is beautiful
beyond his time ; but his conception of the
Messiah's fan is premature. When the hills
look too near, there will be rain. I am afraid
this great revival preacher is preparing for
himself a harvest of tears. It is grandly ex
citing, no doubt, to see the masses vibrating
to the message that the fan is already in the
hand. But the fan is in reality not yet within
the grasp of the Christ. To the eye of the
Baptist the hills look wonderfully near, but
the deception will ere long reveal itself. When
he stands in the midst of the crowd and cries,
' Behold the Lamb of God ! ' he is on strong
and trenchant ground ; but when he predicts
the immediate diffusion of the Lamb's purity,
he is skating on thin ice. His hearers may be
enraptured to-day, but they will be anxious
to-morrow and downcast the day after. The
Baptist has promised too much. He has held

JOHN THE EXPANDED 33
up the Messiah's winnowing fan in the light
of the coming Sabbath — has held it so as
to exclude the light of all intermediate days.
He has excluded that light from himself as
much as from his hearers. He has taken the
child's leap, that leap which indicates not
breadth but narrowness — the exclusive con
centration of the eye upon the lamp farthest
away. But there is a second characteristic of reli
gious youth, and it also is exemplified in this
great revival preacher. Religious youth is
distinctly uncompromising. It never admits
the possibility of any shades of opinion. A
thing is either white or black, good or bad,
lovely or deformed. This is a tendency, in
deed, pertaining more or less to childhood in
general. The average child has no degrees in
his love. His heart is a clock where only two
hours are indicated — twelve noon and twelve
midnight. Ask if he likes any one ; you will
get an unqualified yes or no. We are in the
habit of adducing this as evidence of the child's
outspokenness. But in truth the problem lies,
c

34 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
not in speaking out, nor, for that matter, in
speaking at all. It lies in the fact that. the
incipient mind is the imperative mind. I do
not think it is a mark of strength, but the
reverse ; it indicates, not breadth, but narrow
ness. It implies a limit in judgment, as the
previous tendency implied a limit in imagi
nation. It is a mark of crudeness and non-
development ; yet it is capable of existing side
by side with the most exalted idea of purity.
Now, the preacher on the banks of Jordan
revealed in pronounced colours this uncom
promising spirit of youth. He denied i the
intermediate shades between night and day.
Not only was the Messiah's fan already in the
hand ; it was to be used drastically. ' He. will
thoroughly purge His floor, and gather His
wheat into the garner ; but He will burn up
the chaff with unquenchable fire.' The Baptist
is in the same position as the servants of
Christ's parable. They wanted to consume
the tares immediately, ' Wilt Thou that we go
and gather them up?' You will remember
the answer was, No ; and you will remember

JOHN THE EXPANDED 35
why — .'Lest while ye gather up the tares ye
root up also the wheat with them.' In nothing
does the wisdom of Christ shine so resplendent
over the wisdom of John. John thought there
were two sets of men — one good and the other
bad ; to Christ the good and the bad nestled
in one soul. John thought a fire would do all
that was wanted ; Christ feared it might do
more than was wanted. John said, 'If a man
show stubbornness of will, beat it out of him ' ;
Christ cried, ' Not so ; you will beat out not
only the stubbornness but the will itself — will
reduce the man to a state of passive imbecility
where decision is hopeless and choice is im
possible.' John proposed to kill evil passion
by putting an axe at the root of the tree ;
Christ said, ' The root of the tree is not evil
passion but good passion ; would you make it
impossible to sin by making it impossible to
feel ! would you debar from scenes of badness
by debarring from the sense of sight ! would
you cure the temptation of the heart by
making the heart a stone ! '
This, then, is the earliest aspect of John

36 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
the Baptist — the fiery preacher of a very high
Christianity — incapable of compromise, in
tolerant of middle courses, eager to reduce
the outside universe into two hemispheres —
heaven and hell ! Take a parting look at
the man ! You will never see him again in
this attitude. Something is going to happen,
the curtain is about to fall. With all its in
tolerance, with all its uncompromisingness,
with all its repelling severity, there is some
thing in this figure transcendently grand.
As it sways to and fro on the banks of
Jordan, shaken with the pulsations of its own
eloquence — as it breaks forth, now in passion
ate invective, now in earnest pleading, now
in prophetic fervour — I wonder not that the
crowds listen and tremble. It is a soul walk
ing on a narrow plank ; but on that plank he
walks with dauntless foot. The man speaks
with conviction ; and his conviction is his
power. Alone of all the world he has seen
the King in His moral beauty — has recog
nised that lamblike whiteness is better than
imperial purple. Basking in that fair ideal

JOHN THE EXPANDED 37
of a spotless Christ, he demands a spotless
world — demands it now, here, immediately.
If the acceptance of Christ meant a change of
outward government, men might be allowed
to linger ; but the acceptance of Christ meant
purity, holiness, goodness — all that lies within
a man's own heart, ready for the waking
touch of God. This was a kingdom that
needed no armies nor weapons nor fortresses ;
why should it not come to-morrow, to-day,
this hour !
So thought, so spake, John Baptist in the
morning. But now, as I have said, the scene
is about to vanish. Even as we gaze, the
picture melts like snow. Jordan suddenly
disappears ; the voice of the preacher fades ;
the crowd upon the bank evaporates as a
stream of limelights, and, where the hum of
life resounded, universal silence reigns. We
are on the borders of a great tragedy — one of
the greatest tragedies in history. But what
is that tragedy? Perhaps there are few of
us who have realised where consists the
dramatic horror of the situation. Ask a

38 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Sunday-school child what was the tragedy
that befell John the Baptist, he will answer
without hesitation, ' In the course of his teach
ing he denounced an illegal marriage of
Herod, who put him in prison and caused
him to be beheaded.' And yet, that is not
the dramatic element in the case of the
Baptist. That was a tragedy to the man,
but not to the preacher, not to the reformer,
not to the Christian forerunner. What was
the tragedy to Sir Walter Scott? The loss
of his money? Assuredly not; that might
happen to the most undistinguished man.
But when Scott faded in mind, when his
powers became paralysed, when his right
hand lost its cunning and his mighty brain
ceased to be a highway for the nations, then
came the real tragedy. It was not genius
parting with money ; it was genius parting
with itself.
The Baptist's tragedy was analogous to
this. It was not his prison ; it was not
his peril ; it was not his martyrdom — it was
the fact that he wavered in his first faith.

JOHN THE EXPANDED 39
From the depths of his dungeon he sends a
message to the ideal of his dreams, 'Art
Thou He that should come, or do we look
for another?' Nothing, to my mind, in the
whole history of the Baptist is half so tragical
as that. And why? Because it is the man
parting from his innermost self. It is as if
Shakespeare had lost his passion, as if Tenny
son had lost his culture, as if Keats had lost
his colouring. If this man had kept his con
fidence undimmed we should have looked in
vain for the element of tragedy ; not the dun
geon, not the persecution by Herod, not the
axe of the headsman, could have made the
final scene other than glorious. But when
a cloud fell over his innermost self, when in
the flood he lost sight of the bow, when
his faith wavered, when his one strong and
seemingly invincible possession received
damage on a rock of earth — this is the
crisis of the drama, this is the tragedy of
the scene !
Has the Gallery, then, here committed a
breach of art? Ought the hero to lose his

40 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
particular point of heroism ? We can under
stand misfortune, struggle, death ; these may
only brighten the man's special beauty. But
that the special beauty itself should be falsi
fied, that the hero should be untrue to his
own soul, that the curtain should fall precisely
where his lofty ideal falls — is that a stroke
worthy of artistic enthusiasm ! Is it not
specially unworthy of that great Christian
art whose aim is not to destroy but to fulfil,
and which finds its highest glory when it
gathers up the fragments that remain !
In this instance I do not hesitate to answer,
No. I say that nowhere has Christianity
been more optimistic than in allowing the
Baptist's faith to fail. No other stroke would
have imparted full glory to the picture. What
is it that the Baptist lacks throughout? It
is expansion. His taint is narrowness. His
ideal of Christ was magnificent, unique among
his contemporaries. But he insisted that this
ideal should become the immediate posses
sion of the world. He had no place for the
wavering, no provision for the stunted, no

JOHN THE EXPANDED 41
tenderness for the specially tempted. What
this man needed was charity — a deeper sym
pathy with the infirmities of man. And how
was he to get it? How is any man to get
it? I know of only one way — he must be
depressed in his strong point. Touch him
in any other point, and you will fail. But
touch him where he is strong, shake him
where he has been immovable, and you open
the first inlet for the entrance of human
charity. The shaking of John's faith was a
process preparatory to his spiritual expan
sion. It prepared him for the answer he was
about to receive. He had1 sent a message to
Jesus, ' Art Thou He that should come ? '
The reply was on the way, and it was virtu
ally an exhortation to remember human
frailty. Let me try to paraphrase this reply
of Jesus.
' John, it is just because I do not follow your
method that I am He that should come.
Your method is a drastic one. You want to
begin by clearing out the chaff. You want
me, when I enter the threshing-floor, to look

42 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
round and be impressed with the absolute
purity of all things. You want me to be able
to say, " I see no blind here, no lame, no leper,
no deaf, no dead in trespasses and sin, no poor
and ignorant requiring to be preached to ; it
is all radiant as a summer day." But, my
friend, when I come into the threshing-floor,
that is not what I want to see. I wish to see
the contrary. I wish to look round and see in
the foreground the very men you have put out
— the blind, the lame, the leper, the deaf, the
spiritually dead, the poor and ignorant. I
would have all these cleansed, but I would
have them cleansed from the inside. I de
mand not that the blind should see before
they climb the mountain ; I ask not that the
lame should leap ere they enter by the
Beautiful Gate. Let there be no separation
between the wheat and the chaff; gather them
both into my garner and let me meet them
there ! Bring in Bartimeus ; bring in the man
of Bethesda ; bring in the typical Magdalene ;
bring in the leper from the tombs ! I shall meet
the crowd as they are — unwashed, uncleansed,

JOHN THE EXPANDED 43
unbeautified ; in their rags and ruin will I give
them my hand.'
That is a real paraphrase of the message
from Jesus to John. And remember, when it
came to John it came to a broken-down man
— a man who had been shaken in the sphere
of his proudest confidence. What a magni
ficent preparation for so grand a message !
There was a time when John would have
scorned to let Bartimeus in ; but now his own
eye had become dim. There was a time when
he would have resented the admission of the
man of Bethesda ; but now his own feet had
become weary. For the first moment in his
life he felt himself part of that chaff which
he had consigned to everlasting fire. There
sprang up in his soul a fellow-feeling with
infirmity. The ingathering of the wheat
ceased to be the mark of Messianic greatness.
To take up tenderly the withered flower, to
plant again the fallen tree, to bind the heart
that had been wounded, to raise the soul that
had been bruised, to give a chance to the
reprobate, to find a fresh start for the children

44 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
of a corrupt heredity, to proclaim a new year
in which the darkest life might begin once
more — such was that unique ideal of heroism
which gave to the dungeon of John's closing
days a light of glory which his brightest
morning had never known !
I think, then, that the grandest period of the
Baptist's life was not the days of his wilder
ness freedom, but that lonely prison-house
from which he only came forth to die. The
hour of his physical chain was the hour of his
mental enfranchisement. His morning was
cribbed, cabined and confined. He was like a
man that never had an illness. He had no
sympathy with bad health. His besetting
weakness was his robust constitution. He
could not make allowance for aches and pains,
for reaction and weariness. He needed a
special gift from God, and that special gift
was a privation. Nothing but a privation
could set the captive free — could unbar those
gates of sympathy whose closure made life to
him a desert. But at his evening-time there
came that light. It was not the dungeon

JOHN THE EXPANDED 45
brought it ; it was the shaking of his faith in
his own robustness. That shaking was like
the cloud on the Mount of Transfiguration. It
removed Moses and Elias and revealed Jesus
only. The man of law and the man of fire
both faded from his horizon, and by his side
there stood in undisputed presence the Man of
Mercy. Sinai vanished like smoke ; Carmel
melted like a mimic scene ; and, in all the vast
expanse, the eye of the great preacher rested
on one solitary hill — the love-lit brow of
Calvary. With such a vision in his soul the
Baptist could afford to die.

T ORD, mine too has been this expansion
-* — ' of the inward life. It is the greatest
boon a human heart can know. And yet,
my Father, to me, as to the Baptist, it has
come through pain. He thought his was an
hour of mutilation, of infirmity, of bondage;
he bewailed the cloud that had fallen over
his faith. But the cloud was sent by Thee.
Sometimes my faith needs a cloud. I may

46 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
find it so dazzling that I may be blind to hope
and charity. I may cry, 'Destroy the un
believers, O God ; root them out, consume
them, annihilate them ! ' When I say that,
Thou sendest my faith a cloud. Thou veilest
the heavens over Jordan ; Thou hidest the
dove descending ; Thou utterest no more the
voice of the morning. Thou makest me say,
' I see it is a harder thing than I thought to be
a believer; I have been too severe upon my
brother-man.' I bless Thee for these eclipsing
moments, O my God. I bless Thee that I
have been touched with the feeling of man's
infirmities. I bless Thee that Thou hast put
a temporary veil over the face of faith ; it has
unveiled her two sisters — hope and charity.
When my sky was cloudless I despaired of
those who could not see ; when my faith was
fearless I was wroth with those who could not
believe. But my tremor has made me tender,
my mist has made me merciful, my haze has
made me human. I have gained more in my
night than in my day. In my day I soared
beyond sympathy ; in my night I caught my

JOHN THE EXPANDED 47
brother's hand. In my day I was solitary on
the wing ; in my night I had companionship
through weakness. In my day I believed
only in the wheat ; in my night I had a kind
ness for the chaff. In my day I had the
feeling of a lonely majesty; in my night I
had the fellowship of a common mystery. It
was worth while, O Lord, to wear a chain so
golden !

CHAPTER III
JOHN THE SELF-SURRENDERED
As I pass from the figure of the Baptist I am
arrested by two other portraits hanging side
by side. The bystanders tell me that they
are intended to represent one and the same
character — John, Son of Zebedee. One of the
portraits, indeed, admits of no doubt on this
point ; it has the name ' John, Son of Zebedee '
appended to it. The other has no title, no
inscription ; but all the spectators say with
one breath, ' That is another likeness of John.'
As I look into the faces of these two portraits
I am by and by startled — not by their like
ness but by their disproportion. They are
altogether dissimilar. It is not a question of
light hair or dark, pale cheeks or rosy. It is
a difference more vital than that — a difference
of expression. The professed Son of Zebedee

JOHN THE SELF-SURRENDERED 49
has an air of self-consciousness about him.
I do not say he is selfish ; but he is self-con
scious. He is playing a noble part; but he
is aware that he plays it. In a more pro
nounced sense than Peter he has a tendency
to take the lead. He makes a bid for one of
the two uppermost seats in the Messianic
Kingdom. He takes a portion of Christ's
government into his own hands in the mean
time — he interrupts on his own account the
charities of a man who refused to take the
name of Christian. He comes forward as
spokesman when a Samaritan village shuts
its gates — he counsels a return to the old
policy of fire and sword. There are circum
stances in his life which are favourable to
self- consciousness. He is not so poor as
the other disciples. He has more outlets to
worldly influence than his Galilean brethren —
even the High Priest Caiaphas has a know
ledge of him. Above all, he is a mother's
darling — the child of one who rates him far
beyond his present merits, who thinks him
good enough for anything, and who is eagerly
D

50 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
ambitious to advance his interests.1 There is
no mirror which a young man should subject
to such close criticism as that which reflects a
mother's heart. On the whole, the impression
conveyed to my mind by this portrait of the
professed Son of Zebedee is that of a mis
guided and spoiled boy.
But turn now to the other, the nameless
picture. It is a complete contrast. If the
former was self-conscious, this is self-forget
ting. We look into a face whose own look is
far away. We feel that we are in the presence
of a personality which is almost oblivious of its
outward surroundings, altogether oblivious of
itself. There is no phrase which to my mind
would describe him so well as 'the anony
mous man.' It is not only that he never gives
his name ; he never thinks of his name. In
all that he does, in all that he meditates, he
keeps hid from himself. The typical attitude
in which he is painted is that of a man lying
on Christ's bosom. And it truly describes
1 Her ambition, however, was only maternal ; her personal
attitude to Christ was most unworldly (Matt, xxvii. 56;
Mark xv. 40, and xvi. 1).

JOHN THE SELF-SURRENDERED 51
him. This later portrait is that of one who
rests upon the bosom of humanity. There is
one word which has become his keynote —
brotherhood. The man who in the former
painting asked a private seat above the reach
of the common crowd is found in this later
delineation elbowing his way into the heart
of that crowd and seeking to bury the very
memory of his name in the sense of a life
which made him one with the multitude.
These are the two portraits. What is their
relation to one another ? The bystanders who
first occupied the Gallery were convinced
that they represented one and the same man.
But the modern bystanders have been divided
in opinion. Some have held by the original
spectators — recognising that there may be
two sides to the same character. Others have
been unable thus to bridge the chasm. They
have felt that these two portraits are separated
by the gulf of Dives, that they cannot be
thought of as two sides of a life or two phases
of a character, that they belong to different
atmospheres — one to earth and the other to
heaven — one to the mist over the river, and

52 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
the other to the mountain peak lit by the
morning sun.
Now, I want to put a question. In point
of fact, there is in the New Testament Gallery
an instance in which two portraits of the same
man are even more pronouncedly different
than those attributed to the Son of Zebedee.
I allude to the picture of Saul of Tarsus and
the subsequent picture of Paul the Apostle.
The question I put is this, Why does no one
say that these cannot represent the same man ?
Of course the answer will be immediate. You
will say, This man, Saul of Tarsus, admittedly
turned a somersault; his was a conversion, a
transformation, an emergence from darkness
into light. And it is quite true that Saul of
Tarsus turned a somersault. It is quite true
that, as he says himself, he passed through a
change equal to that of creation in its emer
gence from chaos. What is not true is the
notion that in this transformation of Saul
there is anything exceptional. If we exclude
John the Baptist, who was in the deepest
sense a forerunner, I do not know a man of
the Gallery who had not as much need of

JOHN THE SELF-SURRENDERED 53
transformation as Saul of Tarsus. It is true
he was a persecutor ; but negative indifference
is often a bigger gulf than positive opposition.
What separated the Christian and the Jew
was not their hostility ; it was their ideas.
The chasm between them was as great ere
ever one opposing voice had been raised on
either side. I must repeat what I have already
said — the New Gallery is not a painting of
qualities but a painting of transformations.
Each is a different transformation ; Paul
exhibits one, John exhibits another. If we
allow the double, nay, the contradictory de
lineation for Paul, why should we not make
the same allowance for John ! What we see
in his case is what we see in the case of the
man of Tarsus — transformation. It is the
change from egotism into impersonality, from
consciousness into forgetfulness, from self
into self-surrender. What happened to John
was the breaking of his mirror — the smashing
into fragments of that glass by which he
had shone reflected in his own sight and
had appeared the prime actor in the great
drama.

54 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
When did this destruction of the mirror
take place? Why should we speak of it as
a 'smashing'? Would it not be the result
of development? Undoubtedly. But in all
development there is one crucial moment —
a moment which marks the boundary -line.
The building up of individual life is a de
velopment — a progress from stage to stage.
But there is a special instant in which what
we call deadness passes into life. It matters
not what theory of life you hold. You may
say, if you like, with Herbert Spencer, that
it is simply the adjustment of the organism
to its environment. Very well. But there
is a moment, a crisis moment, in which that
adjustment is complete, and in that moment
we pass from death unto life. Death in its
natural course is also a development — a gradual
process of exhaustion. But there is a point in
which the process becomes an act, a moment
of immediate transformation in which there
is no longer any room for development, and
in which the change is abrupt, ungraduated,
instantaneous — we say, ' The man is dead.'

JOHN THE SELF-SURRENDERED 55
And John had a crisis moment. It came,
I believe, in that hour when his egotism seemed
to have soared into its climax — when, swayed
by a mother's ambition, he asked the front
seat in the Kingdom.1 And it was with him
as with Paul — the hour of his deepest moral
need was the hour of his revelation. For a
moment the man of Galilee, like the man
of Tarsus, saw heaven open. And what a
heaven it was ! It was a reversal of all his
dreams. In answer to his ignorant and pre
sumptuous prayer Christ simply raised the
curtain and let the man see in. The sight
which met his gaze paralysed his earthly
wings for evermore ; the soaring ceased, the
bird fell. For, what was it he saw — what was
it we all saw ? It was a new ideal of great
ness. It was not only John the fisherman
who was transformed by that hour. We were
all transformed — kings and senators, empires
and civilisations. The world never got back
to its old regime. What was that old regime?
1 On mature reflection, I would place this incident much
earlier than I did in my Studies of the Portrait of Christ.

56 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
It was the idea that the greatest man is he
who has the million for his servants. But
when Jesus said to John, ' Whosoever will be
great among you, let him be your minister,'
He founded a new regime ; He declared that
the greatest man is he who is the servant of
the million. That the Son of Man — the ideal
of all royalty, the synonym for all heroism,
should be linked not with mastery but with
subordination, that the name to a child of
Israel most suggestive of power should be asso
ciated with subservience to classes and masses
alike, that the life of the potentate should be
identified in its deepest essence with a volun
tary adoption of the life of the slave — this
was not only an epoch-making thought but a
thought which has re-moulded all the epochs.
We need not wonder that it re-moulded John.
I should say, then, that this was to John
the smashing of the mirror. It was his crisis
moment. In one of his letters which has
always seemed to me to have a ring of
autobiography he speaks of having ' passed
from death unto life.' Those are the words

JOHN THE SELF-SURRENDERED 57
of a man who has been conscious of a crisis.
They express the sense, not of a process, but
of an act. Doubtless there had been a pro
cess too — subtle, hidden, underground ; the
greater part of our preparation for the King
dom is an unconscious preparation. But, as
I have said, to John as to every developing
man there comes a boundary moment, a point
at which the soul must pass over. We may
have a very long walk to the river ; but, when
we have reached the river, walking is at an
end — the remainder of the journey is to be
completed by a plunge. John is conscious
of a plunge — of having 'passed over.' He
is conscious of having been on two banks
of the river — of having made the transition
from the bosom of his mother Salome to
the bosom of the Son of Man. He has ex
changed the love of self for the love of
humanity, ambition for ardour, egotism for
enthusiasm. He feels that the former man
is dead — that death itself could not produce
a greater change. He forgets all the rest
of the process in the transition of a single

58 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
moment ; and no moment is to my mind so
likely as that in which on the plains of earth
the Son of Man revealed to him the ideal of
heavenly greatness.
But there is one point on which I think
many of us have been under a great mis
apprehension. The popular notion seems to
be that John made a transition from a very
masculine to a very effeminate nature. I
believe it to have been exactly the reverse.
I have already expressed the opinion that
the influence of John's mother was in the
first instance unfavourable to him. He was
too much under her tuition and imbibed too
much of her spirit. It is a great mistake
to imagine that the early petulance and
vehemence of John are the mark of a nature
not effeminate. They come direct from
effeminacy. If the original picture is less
gentle than the later picture, it is precisely
because it is more effeminate. Those sudden
gusts of temper, those sweeping breezes of
passion, those eruptions of the lava stream
that destroy Samaria and wither even a good

JOHN THE SELF-SURRENDERED 59
man if he refuse to join the Church — whence
come they ? Just from that which is the root
of effeminacy — the absence of self-restraint, the
inability to pause and deliberate, the ineffi
ciency of that protective wall which prevents
the impulses of the heart from running over.
What John received from his transforma
tion was a virile soul ; and it was his virile
soul that made his gentleness. I have said
that his outburst over Samaria came from the
unrestraint of a nature too soft to bind its
wrath. But we shall commit a great error
if we imagine that the calmness of his after
life came from a suppression of his power
to feel. I have no hesitation in saying that
there is more evidence of intense and burning
feeling in the second picture than in the first.
You look at a windless, waveless sea whose
surface is unruffled and whose bosom is un
clouded. But you do not look long before
you find that the stress has been only trans
ferred into the interior. You see heavings
below ; you hear repressed mutterings under
neath ; you detect the shadow of a submarine

60 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
hand holding back the depths with iron grasp
and creating the surface calm by the very
force of its inward struggle. Listen to the
cry that breaks out in one of John's letters ! —
' If a man say, I love God, and hateth his
brother, he is a liar.' Is that the language of
a weakling, of a man emasculated, enervated,
emptied of his spirit of fire ! Is it not clear
that it is the fire which is trying John's work —
subjecting him to the crucial test of whether
his gentleness has yet made him great, whether
he has reached that gift which was absent
from his boyhood — the power to be scorched
without scorching, to be smitten and not
smite !
Do you know what I think the strongest
evidence of that self-restraint which became
the flower of the Son of Zebedee ? It lies, I
believe, in something not on the surface, some
thing for which you must read between the
lines. There are many moments of love which
are not self-restraint, but, in the most sublime
sense, self-indulgence. I would not say, for
example, that the lying on the Master's bosom

JOHN THE SELF-SURRENDERED 61
was a mark of restraint ; I can imagine no
greater luxury. I would not say that the
standing at the foot of the cross was a mark
of restraint ; we wonder that the others could
restrain themselves from being there. But the
fact which I think reveals the transformed
John in his summer bloom is his attitude to
Judas Iscariot. In nothing does he come so
near his Lord. I believe that the only two
of the primitive band who detected Judas be
fore the time were John and his Master ; upon
the rest the betrayal fell like a clap of thunder.
John and his Master alone saw the blemish
in the bud. We know that the Son of Zebedee
shared in the perception which had broken
upon his Master, because he tells us so. No
body can read the Fourth Gospel without
being impressed with the bitter and implac
able loathing which this man by nature enter
tained for Judas — a loathing more strong,
more deep, and more outspoken than is dis
played by any of his comrades. This is
the fact as it appears on the face of the
narrative. The beloved disciple has come

62 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
into the dark secret of his Master. He has
detected the blackness in a human soul.
How does he act in these circumstances?
Does he repeat the vituperation that he
launched at the Samaritan village? Does
he call upon the fire to come down and
consume the miscreant ? Does he denounce
this man as he denounced the other man for
working in a Name he did not worship ? No ;
he has learned self-restraint now. He con
ceals his revelation. He meets Judas as he
meets Peter. He meets him at the council,
he meets him at the feast, he meets him in
that solemn hour sacred to the coming bereave
ment — the hour of all others when we sigh for
kindred souls. He meets him, he greets him,
as a brother ; he represses the pent-up fury
of his heart.
The question is, Why ? I have said it was
self-restraint ; but the question still remains
— Why? There is no such thing in Christi
anity as self-restraint for its own sake. It is
not a Christian virtue ; it is a Stoic virtue.
There are hundreds who have passed through

JOHN THE SELF-SURRENDERED 63
the fiery furnace and never revealed that they
got any hurt ; the mind can be taught to sup
press its cries. But Christian self-restraint is
not suppression ; it is surrender. I may keep
back my cry from pride, or I may keep back
my cry because I have seen a possibility of
succour. John's attitude to Judas is the latter
of these. Why does he treat him as a brother?
Because in the companionship of the Master
he had awakened to the sense of brotherhood.
As long as the shell had not burst, John and
his Master had a ray of hope for Judas. Did
you ever ask yourself the reason of Christ's
open proclamation of the prophecy, ' One of
you shall betray me.' ' To show His miraculous
power,' you say. What I regard as an un
happy gloss has put that reason into Christ's
mouth ; but He Himself would have repudi
ated it. It required no miraculous power to
see through Judas, nor was there any miracle
in the vision. I ask again, therefore, Why
does Christ in the presence of Judas himself
keep ringing the changes of the prophecy,
' One of you shall betray me ' ? And I answer,

64 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
'It is in the hope that the prophecy will not
come true.' He wants the man to take fright
at the mirror of himself — as David did when
he was painted by Nathan, as Nineveh did
when it was pictured by Jonah. If by any
chance he could see himself — if for him, bad
as he was, lurid as he was, repulsive as he
was, there could lurk in some corner, however
small, the tiniest patch of green — if any stray
word could waken him, any chance light scorch
him, any sudden snapshot reveal him to him
self — the Master would be proud that His
prophecy should fail.
Now, I believe Christ's first work for the
transformed John was the bearing with Judas.
When he had reached the spiritual shore —
that state which, though on earth, he called
the world beyond death — the first work that
awaited him was a reversal of his past. As
an arrogant youth, he had called upon the
flames to wrap round and round the walls of
a Samaritan village that had closed its gates
on Jesus. But here was a spectacle compared
to which the guilt of Samaria's village grew

JOHN THE SELF-SURRENDERED 65
pale ! Here was a life closing its gates — body
and soul, nerve and sinew, heart and brain ;
here was a mind so dark, so irresponsive, so
unsympathetic that John himself in a moment
of self-communion calls him the ' son of per
dition'!1 But a voice says : ' Do not accelerate
the perdition ; do not anticipate the perdition ;
give the man a chance — a chance in your own
heart ! Do not let the fire come down upon
Samaria even in imagination ! Keep it away
from your fancy ; hope against it ; pray against
it ; love against it ! I do not say, " Restrain
yourself, curb yourself, control yourself!" — I
would rather prescribe the wing than the
chain. Bathe yourself in brotherhood, lave
yourself in love, hide yourself in humanity,
sun yourself in the service of man ; and you
will no more need to pray, " Keep back my
angry soul ! " '
Here is a fitting place to bid John farewell
— in that haven of love which was to him the
1 I believe the words, ' None of them is lost, but the son
of perdition ' to be John's passing comment on the statement
of Christ's prayer, ' Those that Thou gavest me I have kept '
(John xvii. 12). E

66 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
other side of death. Three times, in the testi
mony of after-days, 'the curtain rises on the
man. Very surprising to me are these succes
sive risings. Viewed as historical or viewed
as traditional, they mark the true sequence of
the spiritual life. Life has ever three typical
periods ; I would call them the age of imagina
tion, the age of reason, and the age of sim
plicity. We all begin with our Apocalypse —
our sight of a city of gold with pearly gates
and crystal fountains and nightless skies. We
do not move forward through life ; we move
backward. The first thing we see is the drama
completed. The dawn that greets the eye of
youth is not the dawn of its own morning
but the dawn of futurity. Yesterday has no
power, to-day has no power ; we light our
torch at the sun of to-morrow. Then comes
the second step, and it is a step backward.
We fall into the present world. Reason takes
the place of imagination. To-morrow fades
in to-day. Instead of looking forward we look
round. We begin to ask, Who are we? —
Where are we? — What is the cause of our

JOHN THE SELF-SURRENDERED 67
being? — Why are there so many streets that
are not golden, so many gates that are not
of pearl, so many skies that are all night?
By and by there comes a third and final stage.
It is what we should have expected to come
first1 — the past of the man. He ends where
we should have looked for him to begin — in
the simplicity of a child. Arguments lose
their interest ; theories cease to trouble ; ques
tionings are not long harboured in the mind
— after the days of tracing come the days of
trusting. And these are the curtains that rise over
the subsequent life of John. We see the
heart of youth swelling with the anticipation
of future glories — the man of the Apocalypse,
the man of Patmos. Then we see the heart
of maturity — the sober, grave, and reverent
senior, living entirely in the problems of his
age, and striving to mould philosophy into
the image of his Christ ; it is the man of re
search, the man of the Fourth Gospel. At last
there comes the final raising of the curtain ;
and we see a little child. He has gone back

68 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
to the past. We have a series of charmingly
simple letters which make the close of his
life a tribute to the instincts of childhood.
The harp of youth may have lost most of its
strings, the accents of philosophy may have
ceased to charm ; but there is one primitive
word that dominates, rules, over-rules — it is
'love.' That word — the child's first medium
of revelation — becomes to this old man the
one test of all spiritual beauty, the one proof
that God is true, the one unassailable evidence
of the destiny and the mission of man.

"JV/TY Father, when I look at Thy Great
-*-*-*¦ Gallery of Christian souls, it brings
a deep comfort to my heart to know that they
were not always beautiful. If theirs had been
a native splendour, I should have sunk beneath
the glow. But I bless Thee that these beau
tiful faces have been gifts from Thee. I bless
Thee that in the opening of their lives they
were so very plain. It is not a prodigy that
gives me hope ; it is a dull boy rising to

JOHN THE SELF-SURRENDERED 69
distinction. Even so, my hope of loveliness
is when I see beauty come from unpromising
soil. I thank Thee that Thou hast let me
see the dust of the earth out of which came
the beloved disciple — the egotism, the vanity,
the worldly ambition, the forgetfulness of
others, the unrestrained passion, the dictatorial
pride, the mirror of self-consciousness filling
all the heart. It is an unholy picture; but
it makes me throb with the promise and
potency of holiness. For, this is the man who
summers in the bowers of eternal beauty — in
the haven of cloudless love ! This is the man
that rests on the bosom of Thy fair Christ !
He has climbed from rags into radiance. He
has soared from dust into divinity. He has
mounted from the shadow into the sunshine.
Therefore, my Father, there is hope for me —
not of bare salvation, but of the glory of an
archangel. I too may bask in Thy heights ;
I too may dwell in Thy nightless skies. Only
let Thy Christ stand over my dust, and it
will bloom. One sight of Him will break the
mirror of my vanity. One touch of Him will

70 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
still the beatings of my ambition. One tone
of Him will give my passions calm. One sigh
of Him will shatter all my pride. One memory
of Him will make me remember myself no
more. Transform me by Thy Christ, O my
God!

CHAPTER IV
NATHANAEL THE INVIGORATED
As we advance through the Great Gallery
we are confronted by a face which has left
its impress on the canvas of all time; it is
that of Nathanael. There are three voices
in the verb 'to live' — being, doing, suffering.
There are some who come into this world to
' do ' ; they are sent to work out a mission.
There are some who come into this world
to ' bear ' ; their special gift from God has
been a thorn. But there are a few who are
sent neither to do nor to bear, but simply to
' be.' Nathanael belongs to the last class.
If you ask what he did, I cannot tell. I can
tell what Peter did, what John did, what Paul
did — but not what Nathanael did. His mission
was his being, and his being was his beauty. 71

72 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
We feel as if we were watching a child whose
years are to be few, and for whom there is
no active work designed, yet whose petals
we see unfolding and whose buds we behold
expanding. The picture of Nathanael is
strictly the unfolding of a flower. We are
accustomed to say that we are told nothing
about him. Nothing of what he did, nothing
of what he bore — but of what he was, a whole
biography ! Come and unfold the flower with
me as it grows under the fig-tree ! It is the
only life in the New Testament Gallery which
is revealed emerging from rustic scenes. Peter,
Andrew, James, the apostle John, probably
Philip, rise from the sea. Matthew issues from
the exchange. Mark comes from a secretary's
room. Nicodemus seems to have come out of a
library. But Nathanael emerges from under
a fig-tree.1 He is the rustic of the primitive
band. Rusticity is the first stage of his
life-flower. A native of Cana in Galilee, he
has never left that village for any contact
1 It is possible, in the light of John xxi. 2 and 3, that at
an after-date he joined the fisherman's craft.

NATHANAEL THE INVIGORATED 73
with a busy town. He has not rubbed with
the world, and he remains still an artless child
— free from scheming, free from ambition, free
from jealousy, free from the consciousness
of self. He is without vices ; but as yet it
is only the faultlessness of rustic simplicity.
I think we are in a great mistake about the
meaning of these words which Jesus spoke
of Nathanael, ' Behold an Israelite indeed, in
whom is no guile.' As popularly understood,
they would be a eulogium fit to emblazon on
the wings of angel or archangel, cherub or
seraph. If Nathanael has reached this altitude,
why call him to Jesus at all! Could Christ
do more for any man than make him free
from guile! If this man has reached the
climax, he has no need of the climbing ; the
ladder from earth to heaven is in his case
quite superfluous ! Let him remain under the
fig-tree and meditate on his own skies; he
can see no greater things than these !
But my reading of this passage is very
different. I would paraphrase it thus : ' It is
not opposition I am afraid of ; it is dishonest

74 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
opposition. I see a man resting under a tree.
He is a thorough Israelite — earnestly devoted
to the Rabbinical traditions of his country, and
therefore naturally not in sympathy with me.
Yet in his opposition there is no guile. There
is nothing mean about it, nothing personal,
nothing paltry. He is genuinely afraid of
the new movement — afraid from the highest,
purest motives. There will be an opposition
which will come from guile. Men will refuse
to come to me through fear of the cross,
through dread of the sacrifice which my religion
involves. But here is a man who is afraid he
will lose the cross, afraid he will be deprived
of the chance of sacrifice. He says, " Can any
good thing come out of Nazareth ! " He
thinks my religion will be too gay a thing,
too sportive, too joyous. He distrusts Nazareth,
he distrusts any part of Galilee. Galilee is
too near the Gentiles for him — too near the
confluence of the sinful nations who spend
their life in eating and drinking, marry
ing and giving in marriage. He fears it
will be a worldly religion, withdrawing the
mind from what is serious and making the

NATHANAEL THE INVIGORATED 75
faith of Israel an imitation of the games of
Greece.' Consider, for a rustic like Nathanael and
one with the weakness of a rustic, there was
nothing strange in his entertaining such a pre
sentiment. For let us remember that Christi
anity is the only religious revival in the world
which has come in gay attire. Everywhere
else the revival of religion has appeared in
dust and ashes ; men have beat upon their
breasts and cried, ' Unclean ! ' Christ Him
self was at first disposed to fast ; but He had
changed His thought — changed it for the ring
ing of bells and the playing of dance-music.
And the sequel was to emphasise the change.
Any man of the Baptist's school would be
startled out of his senses by what he was to see.
He would see Jesus Himself immediately after
His opening ministry1 providing for the supply
of wine at a marriage feast ! He would see
this same Jesus turning a religious meeting into
a social picnic because He saw that the people
were faint and weary ! He would see Matthew
1 John's first chapters presuppose that Christ was in the air
previous to the feast of Cana.

76 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
signalising his conversion by a sumptuous
dinner to his friends! He would see young
ministers after the Sunday-morning service
walking in the fields and plucking the ears
of corn ! He would see Martha — not in spite
of, but by reason of, Christ's presence —
spreading the richest repast that ever graced
a table in Bethany! All this he would be
compelled to view.
And what would he feel ? Very much, I
think, what a former generation of simple
country -people felt when the innovations of
modern science first broke upon the scene.
When the white sail was supplanted by the
black wreaths of the steamer ; when the shrill
railway-whistle woke the silent air; when a
message was sent to India and an answer
came back within an hour ; when a man was
told that he could speak to his brother through
a distance of sixteen hundred miles ; when,
later still, the voices of men were bottled up
in jars, carried across the Atlantic, and made
to deliver speeches or sing songs after perhaps
their original owners had passed away from
earth — I say, such revelations as these must

NATHANAEL THE INVIGORATED 77
have shaken all the lives reposing under the
fig-tree. They must have felt as if private
communion were abolished, as if the life of
public day had extinguished for ever the pos
sibilities of the quiet hour, as if there were
no longer a meeting-place between the soul
and God.
I have attributed to Nathanael the weakness
of the rustic. Some may be shocked by the
ascription. But to me it is an impossible
supposition that Jesus had any need to convert
a man who was already in the literal sense
holy, harmless, undefiled. Christ came to
transform ; if Nathanael was perfect, there
was nothing to change in him. I think there
was something to change. I believe that
originally his understanding was narrow ; he
wanted mental vigour, and Christ called him
to give him that vigour. To me the want of
mental vigour appears more in the second
stage of the flower than in the first. It is
not so much in his opposition to Christ as in
his acceptance of Christ that the weakness
is seen. If he was opposed to Christ on
inadequate evidence, he accepted Him on

78 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
evidence more inadequate still. The narrative
is given in very direct and simple terms, and
may be briefly recapitulated.
Philip runs into Nathanael's retreat and
accosts him with the virtual announcement,
' The Messiah is come — the long-expected,
the long-desired ; He is come in the person
of a toiling man, a man of Nazareth ! ' ' That
cannot be,' cries Nathanael ; ' we who are of
Galilee know too much about its sinfulness
to recognise a Christ from Nazareth ! ' ' In
stead of arguing about the matter,' exclaims
Philip, 'come and see for yourself; look at
the man with your own eyes, and judge
him ! ' Nathanael agrees to the test. He is
brought right into the presence of Jesus.
Jesus greets him as one with whom He had
long been familiar. ' How do you know me ? '
says Nathanael. Jesus answers, ' I saw you
sitting under the fig-tree before any man's
attention was directed to you.' Then, with
a great rush of enthusiasm, with a gust of
conviction that swept all before it, Nathanael
breaks forth into the vehement exclamation,

NATHANAEL THE INVIGORATED 79
' Rabbi, Thou art the Son of God, Thou art
the King of Israel ! '
Now, I have no hesitation in saying that
the rustic was prominent here. Nathanael
had entered upon a great sea in a boat that
was not fit to bear a single gale. The con
clusion was far too big for the premises. He
had rested the Messiahship of Jesus on what
would now be called an act of clairvoyance —
a power to see things at a distance. That
was no mark of Messiahship ; I doubt if it was
even a necessary mark of goodness. It was a
possession of the prophets — and there were
bad men with the prophetic faculty. So far
as I see, all the wicked people in Nazareth
might have had this power without in the
slightest degree diminishing their wicked
ness. Nathanael was here untrue to that
fine moral bias which had prompted his
original prejudice. The moral bias was the
one good thing about the prejudice. He was
then in search of goodness from his Christ ;
it was a terrible fall to come down to clair
voyance. Jesus Himself was surprised at the

80 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
crude conviction. ' Because I said I saw thee
under the fig-tree, believest thou ! ' It is not
the glad surprise He expressed later at the
faith of the Phoenician woman. He recog
nises, no doubt, that Nathanael has made an
advance — that the flower has actually found
its way into the light ; but He feels that
it has dropped something in the process.
Nathanael has lowered his demand. He has
abated his claim. He has consented to take
less from his Christ than he asked under the
fig-tree. There, he had demanded a Christ
who should come from a holy soil, whose
environment should be solemn, whose tread
should be serious. Now, he has for the time
forgotten these impressions, and is willing
to reverence a King who has the attribute
of second sight !
Let us understand this matter. The Christ
of the Gospels desires beyond all things to
secure proximity to Himself. He will accept
that on any terms — even should the coming
be for the sake of the loaves ; He knows that
mere proximity will eventually kindle fire.

NATHANAEL THE INVIGORATED 81
But in the case of such inadequate motives
there is absent an element of joy. It is not
that there is little faith. I believe Nathanael
had enormous faith. I believe he would have
gone to the stake for his faith. I think his
conviction at that moment was deeper than
that of any of the previous converts — deeper
than Peter's or John's or Philip's or Andrew's.
But the conviction itself was based on some
thing which Christ did not hold to be an
essential part of His system. Let me try
to illustrate the difference between the ' little
faith ' and the ' inadequate faith.'
Imagine that a popular plebiscite were
taken with the view of ascertaining the pub
lic's estimate of some great poet — let us say,
Robert Browning. Let us suppose that hun
dreds of sheets were crowded with panegyrics
and a few tens with adverse criticisms. But
let us conceive the idea that the list was
closed by two very unique statements of
opinion, neither of which could be described
as either eulogy or blame, and which by their
very eccentricity excited much attention. Let
F

82 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
us imagine the contents of these two para
graphs. We begin with the last but one.
It says : ' I believe that Browning has a
power which I have not perceived. His great
poems are quite obscure to me. I cannot
understand Sordello; I cannot fathom Para
celsus ; I cannot unravel The Ring and the
Book. I must say, with the Psalmist, " Such
knowledge is too great for me ; it is high ; I
cannot attain unto it." Yet I am willing to
believe that the error is in me. The reason
is that when I read some of his small pieces,
such as Evelyn Hope and Easter Day, I feel
charmed both with thought and style. These
fragments enliven me, refresh me, quicken me.
I would come to Browning for these tiny
sparks from the anvil. The great work of
his forge is meaningless to me ; but the
sparks have light and warmth, and they seem
to beckon me on to the hope of higher vision.'
Now, I should say that this man had ' a little
faith ' in Browning. He believes in him to the
extent of Evelyn Hope and Easter Day ; and on
account of that belief he distrusts his adverse

NATHANAEL THE INVIGORATED 83
judgment of the rest. These are elements of
faith — very few, very fragmentary, very simple,
but pointing in the right direction. Let us
look now at the other and latest paragraph;
it breathes a sentiment wholly different, and
must be measured by a standard of its own.
It says : ' I am sure that Browning is a
born poet. I have never read him, but I
have done better — I have come into contact
with his soul. I was privileged once to meet
him, to be introduced to him. It was under
a tree. I had run beneath its branches for
shelter from a passing shower, and there I
found a group already gathered, of whom
Browning was one. He was made known
to me ; and it seemed as if he had known
me all along. His manner was that of a
familiar friend. Nothing could exceed his
courtesy, his urbanity, his freedom from self-
consciousness, his personal interest in the
things of which I spoke. I felt then and I
feel now that only the soul of a poet could
have enabled any man to throw himself thus
into the life of another.'

84 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
I ask, What is the position of this man ? Is
he in want of faith ? No ; he has boundless
faith; he has crowned his ideal with full
laurels. But then, it is Nathanael's crown —
a crown given for inadequate causes. He has
accepted Browning as his laureate, not on
account of his poetry, but on account of an
interview under a tree. He has reached a
royal conclusion by faulty premises. No
doubt it is good that in any capacity he
should stand near Browning. We will not
rob him of his place ; hereafter he may bloom
by reason of the contact. We only claim the
right to say that he has reached this place by
a short and easy method, and that he will
some day have to fall back to conquer the
unappropriated ground.
And now I come to the third and final step
in the spiritual history of Nathanael. It is
announced by Jesus as something still in the
future which is awaiting him and all of them ;
but it is announced as a positive certainty —
with the formula, 'Verily, verily, I say unto
you.' Jesus predicts Nathanael's mental in-

NATHANAEL THE INVIGORATED 85
vigoration. He predicts the time when he
will base His claims on something higher than
a case of physical clairvoyance — 'You shall
see heaven open, and the angels of God
ascending and descending upon the Son of
Man.' What does this mean? Literally it says,
' You Nathanael, and the rest of you, will
yet see the fulfilment of Jacob's vision.' But
what was Jacob's vision? It was the vision
of God's charity to man. The angels are
ascending and descending for purposes of
ministration ; they are the ministrant spirits
of the old dispensation. But there is one
statement of Christ which is an addition to
the picture, and which is to my mind strik
ingly original. It is the words, ' upon the
Son of Man.' I do not think we have grasped
the significance of these words. Jesus claims
charity as the special evidence of His religion.
He says that He is the basis of all philan
thropy, of all benevolence, of all humanitarian
effort. He refuses the name of charity to
anything which does not move ' on the steps

86 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
of the Son of Man.' He tells Nathanael that
this, and not clairvoyance, is to be the sign
of His Messiahship. He claims to be the
founder of active sympathy ; on His steps
alone could it descend from heaven ; other
foundation could no man lay.
Consider. In the world before Christ, in
the world into which Christ was born, charity
had sought to descend by the steps of other
ladders. The Stoic had preached forgiveness
of injury; but the ladder on which he de
scended was the sense of contempt for man.
Nobody was worth being angry at, nobody
was worth quarrelling with. The mass of
the human race were poor creatures, too in
significant to stir dissension in the breast of
a philosopher or wake revenge in the soul of
a thinker. Again. The Roman supported in
stitutions for the healing of wounded soldiers
and the cure of sick slaves ; but the ladder
on which he descended was the spirit of
self-interest. He wanted to preserve his pro
perty. If the soldier had the prospect of life
in him, he might again serve his country ; if

NATHANAEL THE INVIGORATED 87
the slave gave hope of recovery, he might
again serve his master. The hospitals of that
old world were not homes for the good of the
sufferer ; they were homes for the good of the
healthy. They were intended to recruit the
sinews of war for the leaders of armies ; they
were designed to recoup the resources of
wealth for the masters of households. Do I
speak this to their blame? Assuredly not.
It was an aim legitimate and right. But it
was not the vision which Nathanael was to
see. It was not a descent on the steps of
the Son of Man. In fact, man had nothing
to do with it ; he was the one factor absent
from human calculation. Nobody took into
account that he was lying on a bed of pain ;
nobody asked whether his suffering could be
mitigated. The one question was, Could it be
cured ? — could he be made available for the
economy of the state or the economy of the
domestic hearth? If he could, the gates of
the infirmary were thrown open to him ; if
he could not, he had the fate of the man at
the Pool of Bethesda — he could not get in.

88 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Now, Nathanael's vision was to be very
different from this. The difference lay in the
medium of descent. Rome stooped from her
proud altitude to bind the wounds of the
sufferer; but the ladder on which she came
was not the ladder of Jacob — she descended
on the steps of self-interest. But the steps
of the Son of Man led in the opposite way.
There was no thought of self, no thought of
personal damage, no thought of lost service.
There was only one thought — that a human
form was being mutilated, that a human heart
was feeling sad. Even the possibility of re
covery was not the boundary-line of sympathy.
Man's physical care was to go beyond his
physical hope. It was to take up the incur
ables. It was to provide a home for those who
would serve no more, would fight no more,
would be citizens of their country no more.
It was to prepare for them a new citizenship
— a place where they could abide under the
shadow of the Almighty and render obedience,
not in serving, but in waiting. This was the
spectacle which in the days to come was to

NATHANAEL THE INVIGORATED 89
greet the eyes of Nathanael. And the strange
thing is that the ground of this compassion
for human suffering was not the insignificance
but the greatness of man. Not because he
was a poor, helpless creature shaken by every
wind and at the mercy of every circumstance
was man's benevolence to be evoked for man.
Rather was charity to be elicited by the fact
that above the manger there was a star, that
in company with the weary night-vigils there
were choirs of celestial song, that, lying beside
the impotence of the babe, there were gold and
frankincense and myrrh that told of a coming
glory. Before taking leave of Nathanael there is
one thing I should like to say. Christian
writers, as a rule, have been eager to include
his name in the list of the twelve apostles —
they have tried to identify him with Bartho
lomew. It has seemed to them that one so
early called must have been an apostle. In
that view I cannot concur. I do not think
Nathanael was an apostle. I believe the
Fourth Gospel had for one of its designs just

90 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
to show that men could get close to Jesus
without any official position. Look at its
very keynote ! — ' As many as received Him,
to them gave He power to become the sons of
God, even to them that believe on His name.'
That keynote seeks to show that on the wings
of inward faith, whose beating is inaudible
even to the bystander, the humblest soul may
soar direct into the heart of the Master. Ac
cordingly, this Gospel has a record regard
ing Christians elsewhere unnamed or undwelt
on — Nathanael, Nicodemus, Martha, Mary,
Lazarus. Every one of them was brought
as near to Jesus as any apostle of the band.
Nathanael saw His glory ; Nicodemus buried
Him ; Mary anointed Him ; Martha reasoned
with Him ; Lazarus rose with Him in resur
rection life. To be in such a company was
worth all the privileges of the twelve.

QON of Man, they tell me that Thy crown
**-* has faded. They are wrong ; it was
never so bright as now. To Thee there was

NATHANAEL THE INVIGORATED 91
ever but one crown— Charity ; to this end
wert Thou born and for this cause earnest
Thou into the world. Men have mistaken the
nature of Thy glory. Like Nathanael, they
have seen Thy lustre in a bauble ; and when
the bauble has broken they have said that
Thou hast faded. But in truth Thou hast
had to wait for Thy glory, O Christ ; it is only
fully in sight now. Charity is the youngest-
born child of Thy Father. There have been
days of prophecy, days of eloquence, days of
doctrine, days of creed and confession ; but
charity was still a child. It is but yesterday
that we have begun to descend on Thy steps ;
but at last the dawn is breaking ! Above the
creed there has sounded the cry — the cry of
wounded humanity. We used to ask how we
were to ascend with Thee to heaven ; we are
now inquiring how we are to descend with
Thee to earth. We cannot get deep enough
down until we get into Thy chariot ; our
brother's rags are too loathsome to us till we
have sight of Thee. But Thou hast heightened
my helpfulness by heightening my standard of

92 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
man. It is not pity that I need ; it is praise.
It is not tears that I need ; it is triumph.
It is not heaviness that I need ; it is hope.
Others can show me the vile raiment of the
prodigal ; Thou pointest to the robe that is
awaiting him. Others can tell me he is
despised; Thy look follows him afar off.
Others with a passing tear can leave him
among the swine ; Thou preparest for him the
music in the house of the Father. Take us
into Thy descending chariot, O Son of Man !

CHAPTER V
PETER THE EMBOLDENED
There is no figure in the New Testament
Gallery which presents to the eye such a
mixture of simplicity and enigma as that of
Simon Peter. To outward appearance his
character may be read on the surface. He
is not a theologian like John the Baptist ;
he is not a mystic like John the Evangelist ;
he is a plain, blunt man that speaks the
language of the common day and breathes
the wants of the passing hour. He is more
like an open book than is any other figure
in the Gallery. We feel that we have met
him often, that we shall meet him many
times again. He is one of those men who
on a superficial view promise to offer a very
easy subject of study. And yet the promise
is a delusion. Among the spectators of that

94 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Gallery there has been probably more dis
agreement about the character of Simon Peter
than about the character of any other repre
sentative of New Testament life. It very
often happens that the men and women we
meet in this world who seem most open and
above-board are precisely those who prove
the most difficult to read. Simon Peter is
one of these. He not only seems, but he is,
above-board. There is nothing sinister, no
thing secret, nothing underhand ; his words
and deeds convey exactly the meaning he
intends them to convey. Yet at the close
of our inspection we find ourselves entangled
in what appears to be a web of inconsistencies
from which there is no hope of extrication.
We seem to be confronted by a life of oppos
ing qualities — sometimes touching the heavens,
at others coming perilously near the nether
world — now in the heights of ecstasy, anon
in the depths of despair — to-day winning our
admiration, to-morrow exciting a feeling akin
to repulsion. The life, in fact, alternates
between cowardice and bravery. These are

PETER THE EMBOLDENED 95
the poles betwixt which he wavers. Every
great thing he does comes from a moment
of bravery ; every mean act to which he
stoops comes from a moment of cowardice.
The most cursory examination will make this
clear. The symbol of his whole life is the sea-
walking. That is in miniature the picture '
of his entire character. We see him for an
instant on the top of the wave, daring a
deed which none of his compeers could have
dared ; the next he is shrieking with abject
terror, ' Lord, save me ! ' And the picture
gives no outward cause for this. We see
no increase of the storm. The wind has not
heightened ; the waves have not swollen ; the
sea does not look more scowling than when
he planted his foot upon its bosom. It is
a struggle pure and simple between bravery
in his own breast and cowardice in his own
breast. And this picture, as I have said, is
the keynote to every incident of his life.
He makes professions of loyalty to Jesus far
beyond those of his brethren ; in an hour of

96 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
real danger he shows the courage to maintain
them — he draws a sword in the garden against
heavy odds. Yet within a few hours this man
quails before the question of a servant-girl,
and denies the Lord whom he loves ! I see
again no adequate cause for the change ; it
must have come from a tremor in his own
. soul. Once more. He was one of the first to
recognise the claims of the Gentiles. Bravely
did he stand forth as the champion of Gentile
freedom at a time when the thought was
exciting deep animosities. For ventilating
that thought Stephen had paid the penalty
with his life. For ventilating that thought
the convert Paul had been forced to retire
into temporary exile. It was at such a
moment that Peter's voice was raised in
courageous vindication of a universal Gospel.
Yet, within a few brief years, this same man
goes down to Antioch, and in the face of
far less danger keeps aloof from the Gentile
converts ! Again I say I fail to recognise
an adequate outward cause for the change.
The cause, whatever it is, is within the man.

PETER THE EMBOLDENED 97
His soul is a battlefield between bravery and
cowardice; and here contend for the mastery
of his heart the two most opposite things
in life — the heroism of the soldier and the
abjectness of the poltroon.
Here, then, is a subject for the psychologist.
We want to know why it was that within
the soul of this man there could dwell such
conflicting elements. We can understand a
mixture of doubt and faith, we can imagine
a union of weakness and strength, we can
comprehend the existence of a natural placid-
ness side by side with the possibility of flash
ing fire ; but the co-existence of bravery
and cowardice, the union of the hero and
the faint-heart — that is something which
challenges the philosopher and calls for ex
planation. Let me begin by giving the popular ex
planation. It is this : ' Peter is set forth as
an example of the principle, "Let him that
thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall."
He is a monument of the fact that men are
liable to fail in their strongest qualities unless
G

98 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
periodically renewed by Divine Grace. Peter
was by nature a brave man. He possessed
a soul of fire which made him forget his own
limitations, which drove him instantaneously
into work beyond his power. He lived by
confidence in his own strength, and he over
rated his own strength. He was one of those
men to whom preliminary success is neces
sary. If his first charge! were successful, he
would carry all before him. But if checked
in the assault, he would sink suddenly, utterly,
ignominiously. All his courage would desert
him. A great reaction would come, in which
the once powerful heart would become pro
strate, in which the spirit ready to dare all
things would bow itself to the dust — convey
ing the moral to all self-confident souls that
the highest human gift needs to be supported
from above.'
Now, without for a moment disputing the
truth of the moral, this is not my view of
the character of Simon Peter as delineated
in the Gospel Gallery. I must repeat that
this Gallery is a record of transformations, in

PETER THE EMBOLDENED 99
which each man passes from a lower into
a higher self. But the view here adduced
would make Peter's higher self the original
element and his later self the decline. The
whole picture, as I take it, is based upon an
opposite conception. Instead of being by
nature the courageous man we portray, the
Peter of the Gallery is introduced to us as
a man of extreme timidity — one of those
trembling, shrinking souls that suggest rather
the girl than the youth. We shall go wrong,
in my opinion, if we do not start from this
basis. I admit that we are dealing with an
inconsistent character ; but let us not mistake
the nature of the inconsistency. The incon
sistency of Peter lies in his strength and
not in his weakness. The inconsistency is
the Divine thing about him — the thing that
brings him nearest to his Master. It lies
not in the fact that a brave man periodically
becomes a coward, but that a cowardly man
periodically becomes brave. It is as if a
miser were suddenly to give an enormous
subscription to a charitable institution ; the

zoo THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
subscription, and not the miserliness, is the
thing to be accounted for. Our wonder
should begin, not where Peter sinks, but
where he stands upon the wave — not where
he denies his Lord, but where he vows to
die with Him. To take such a view is not
only more consonant with the picture, it is
really more just to Peter. It places his
character on a higher level. To fall from
an original eminence implies a moral stain ;
but to rise to a height which you have not
yet acquired the adequate strength to main
tain — this is but a sign of weakness, and
ought to be a ground of sympathy.
From this point of view I should be dis
posed to divide the life of Peter into three
periods. The first is the time when timidity
reigns supreme. The second is the stage in
which there begins a struggle between timidity
and a new principle — courage. The third is
that period in which the new principle van
quishes the old and courage becomes the
dominant note of his life.
First, then. Peter originally appears in an

PETER THE EMBOLDENED 101
attitude of constitutional timidity. You say,
Was he not a fisherman — one who is supposed
to buffet the winds and the waves and look
with scorn upon the elements of danger !
Yes ; and has it never struck you with sur
prise that the earliest instance of timidity
we meet in the Gospels is just among
Christ's little band of fishermen — of whom
Peter was one ! I have often marvelled that
when that squall burst upon the bark on the
Sea of Galilee these men manifested such
abject trepidation. Fancy a company of
English sailors overtaken by a sudden gale
and giving vent to their feelings in a simul
taneous shriek of terror — ' Save us, we perish ! '
But it is precisely such a fancy that explains
the mystery. For, these men are not English ;
they are at the opposite remove from the
Englishman. The fishermen of England, the
mariners of England, the very tourists of
England, have become so endeared to the sea
that even its storms bring a sense of exhilara
tion. But to the son of Judah the sea was
always a horror. Jonah was no exceptional

io2 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
case when he ran to sea to escape the presence
of the Lord God. It was to all his country
men the one region where the presence of the
Lord God could not be traced. Although the
exigencies of daily life demanded from the
men of Galilee the prevalence of the fisher
man's calling, I do not think it was for them a
voluntary profession. I think the fishermen
were the most timid set of the community —
as the shepherds were the bravest. I have no
doubt they went out into the deep with fear
and trembling, inquired anxiously the signs
of the sky, experienced during the voyage all
the palpitations of the shrinking heart, and
thanked God fervently when they encountered
no gale. ' We have left all, and followed
Thee,' said Peter to the Lord, speaking for
himself and his fellow-fishermen. But in truth
neither he nor they had made any sacrifice.
They were very glad to get rid of their calling
on the chance of something else. That ' some
thing else ' was precarious ; but the sea was
more precarious still. We err if we imagine
that these men left a comfortable living. They

PETER THE EMBOLDENED 103
left a struggling, and, to their mind, a danger
ous, mode of subsistence — a life which heredity
had made full of unpleasant associations, and
which the national instinct shrank from. It is
written of Christ that He once ' constrained His
disciples to get into a ship ' ; that is what life's
struggle always did to the men of Galilee.
Peter carried his lack of courage into the
kingdom. He left his boat behind him, but
he left not behind him his timidity. Christ
took men into His kingdom with their old
garments on ; the ring and the robe were
an after-consideration. He let them come
with all the elements of their imperfection
clinging round them — with the hand un-
ringed, with the feet unshod, with the vesture
unadorned. Within His holy temple the
votaries again and again revealed traces of
old culture — the remains of a former day.
There are incidents in Peter's life which are
commonly attributed to bold presumption, but
which, to my mind, suggest only the survival
of this primitive culture — the spirit of extreme
timidity. Take that memorable occasion on

104 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
which the Master broke to His disciples the
tidings of His approaching death and when
Peter exclaimed with hot repudiation, ' Be it
far from Thee, Lord ; this will not be unto
Thee!' It is commonly set down to his
impertinent forwardness. I think it was the
voice of shrinking fear. No doubt devotion to
Jesus counted for something ; but they were
all devoted as well as Peter. We have to find
a reason why Peter was the spokesman. And
I think that reason lay, not in his being the
most impertinent, but in his being the most
timid. He shrank from the thought of danger.
He sought to figure a brighter destiny. With
a sailor's superstition, he cried out against the
omen as if he would avert it, bear it down.
He is an object rather for compassion than for
recrimination. Will it be said that the stern
ness of Christ's reproof, ' Get thee behind me,
Satan ! ' is at variance with such a view ? But
to whom was that reproof administered ? To
Peter? No — to Satan — to the tempter of the
wilderness. We are told that after the tempta
tion Satan left Him ' for a season.' This im-

PETER THE EMBOLDENED 105
plies that he was to come back. He had come
back now, and he had come back with the old
temptation — to reject the cross for the crown,
to choose the purple instead of the poverty,
to sway by law in place of stooping by love.
It was not to Peter that Christ administered
the rebuke. It was not Peter that He saw
before Him ; it was the tempter once more —
that tempter whom He had already similarly
and summarily dismissed. The disciple who
had just been commended for having a revela
tion which flesh and blood had not communi
cated would never have been addressed by
the name of ' Satan ' !
There is another incident commonly attri
buted to the presumption of Peter which I
think has its source in his timidity. I allude
to that moment on the Mount of Transfigura
tion when he exclaimed, ' Methinks it is good
to be here ; and let us make three tabernacles
— one for Thee and one for Moses and one for
Elias ! ' The dictation of a plan to Jesus is
startling enough ; but I think it was really a
cry of fear. The refrain of that death-prophecy

106 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
was still ringing in his ears. He attributed to
Jesus the dream of a Messianic conquest. He
thought, if that dream could be dispelled, the
death and danger prefigured would melt away.
If, instead of battling with the rude world, the
Son of Man would pitch His tabernacle on a
height, if He would establish His seat on the
top of the mountain far from the din and
strife of men, if He would sit there till sup
pliants came to Him and descend not Himself
into the lists of human competition, it seemed
to Peter that the new regime would cease to
be one of storm and stress, of difficulty and
danger, of sorrow and sacrifice, but would be
come a haven of peace, a home of tranquillity,
a place where body and soul could alike find
repose. It was his constitutional shrinking
from peril that made him wish to remain on
the hill.
But, all this time, there was growing up in
Simon Peter a new and higher life. Even
amid the survivals of his old culture the second
stage of his spiritual history had already
opened. That second period is one of struggle

PETER THE EMBOLDENED 107
— the struggle between the original timidity
and a new principle which stimulated to
courage. Jacob had begun to wrestle with
his angel and, though baffled oft, had refused
to let him go. Whence came this element
of bravery? It was born of love. There is
no mystery about it ; you may see the same
thing every day. I have seen a soul of extra
ordinary timidity kindled into a courage which
Caesar might have envied ; the fire came from
love. One who all through life had shrunk
from the slightest hint of danger I have known
to rush into a burning house to save her infant
from the flames. And yet it does not follow
that at this moment the constitutional timidity
was dead. The rain may still fall when the
sun is shining. Doubtless, where the element
of love was absent, this woman would for
many a day subside into her old cowardice
in the ordinary trifles of life, and to the eye
of friends and companions would reveal no
spiritual change. None the less the spiritual
change would be there, and sooner or later it
would ' leaven the whole nature ; for love to

108 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
one creates love to all, and the courage in
spired by my single pure affection will at last
become my courage for every danger of my
brother-man. Now, there had come to Peter one great
love. He had met with a life which peculiarly
dominated him. It dominated him by still
ing him, calming him. The very timidity of
Peter made Christ to him a special rest ; in
that tabernacle his trembling spirit could re
pose. And in his devotion to Jesus he had
moments of a new experience — courage. At
first it came only in thought. He fought
battles for Christ in the imagination, stood with
Him in vision on the stormy sea, died with
Him in the realms of fancy. Let no one say
that this profited' nothing. All virtue, all vice,
begins in thinking. The man who has fought
a successful moral battle in his imagination, is
already more than half victorious, for it is in
imagination that sin looks brightest and virtue
seems most hard to win. He may fail betimes
in the actual struggle ; fancy may drop her
lamp for a moment ; he may turn his eyes from

PETER THE EMBOLDENED 109
the Christ to the sea and the winds raging
But let him faint not. Success is coming
The battle in the soul is the real test. The
victory in fancy has guaranteed the triumph
in fact ; and he who has conquered in the spirit
will not long be worsted in the flesh.
There came to Simon Peter such a time of
absolute victory. There came a time when
the struggle with his angel ceased and when
he glowed in the unclouded sun of Peniel.
The final stage of his spiritual experience is
that of unbroken courage. Timidity vanishes
altogether , and in its room there comes a
calm and habitual fearlessness — not the spas
modic burst of confidence which marked his
earliest days, but a fixed and abiding bravery
pervading all his life and directing all his
way. How do we know that this was the final
stage of Simon Peter? Because we have in
our possession a letter written in his mature
life which embodies precisely this spirit. I
think the letters of the New Testament have
each a special characteristic, a quality which

no THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
distinguishes them from beginning to end.
The Epistle to the Romans has the quality
of reasoning. The Epistle to the Galatians is
a letter of self-defence. The Epistle to the
Ephesians is a eulogy on Christ's imperialism.
The Epistle to the Philippians is in praise of
Christian sacrifice. The Epistles to Timothy
are a note of exhortation. The Epistles of
John are calls to brotherhood. The Epistle of
James is a plea for practical religion. What is
the Epistle of Peter ? — I mean his first, or more
undisputed, epistle. What is its characteristic ?
Can we put our hand upon any chord which
pervades all its utterances ? I think we can.
To my mind there is one theme which runs
through this letter as clearly as an air runs
through the variations in a piece of music.
That theme is courage. Peter has taken for
his subject the counterpart of his former self.
More than any document of the New Testa
ment this letter is the Epistle of Courage.
Other things are accidental ; this is its
essence, its glory, its crown. In every note,
in every bar, in every cadence, we find the

PETER THE EMBOLDENED in
man stepping over his dead self and revealing
the newness of life ; the Peter on the top of
the wave looks down upon the Peter sinking
in the depths and cries, ' You were wrong ! '
The very first key struck is one of reversal,
' Blessed be God, who has begotten us unto a
lively hope ' — a hope pervading the life — not
coming periodically in fits and starts, but
taking up its abode within the soul. Listen
again! — 'We are redeemed by the precious
blood of Christ as of a lamb without blemish
and without spot' Where is now the rebuke,
' Be it far from Thee, Lord ; this shall not be
unto Thee'! — the thing from which he recoiled
has become * precious.' Again — ' The God of
all grace, after ye have suffered awhile, make
you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.'
What a comment on his own experience ! To
be no longer spasmodic, fitful, wayward, but
' stablished,' ' settled ' — it was the realisation
of all his wants, and therefore it seemed to
him the crown of all perfection. And then,
notice the boldness of the wish that we should
not be made perfect till after we have ' suffered

ii2 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
awhile ' ! What a note of autobiography is
here ! Where is now the call for the three
tabernacles that he might be free from the
troubles of the plain ! To him in his re
trospect these troubles have become the
glorious things. It is the 'trial of faith'
which he declares to be ' more precious than
gold.' In looking back he has such a reverence
for the crosses of his life that he would not
value perfection without them. The suffer
ing is to him part of the privilege — ' Count it
all joy ! ' he cries. He claims the cloud as
essential to the clearness, the night as instru
mental to the noon. The evening and not
the morning is Peter's golden hour. The
morning was leaden and grey ; the evening
is light and glorious. The morning made
faint with fear; the evening makes strong
with sanguineness. The morning saw his
spirit crouch in a coward's lair ; the evening
leads him forth to dwell in the path of danger.
The motto of his maturity is this: 'Foras
much as Christ has suffered in the flesh, arm
yourselves also with the same mind.'

PETER THE EMBOLDENED 113
T THANK Thee, O Lord, that there is wait-
¦*¦ ing for each of us a courage in reserve.
This man when he started was quite unfit for
the work that lay before him ; he had not
nerve to face life's storm. But it all came —
came with the day and with the hour ; it was
reserved in heaven till the crisis moment. I
too, Lord, am unfit for the struggle of life ; if I
attempt to walk upon its sea I shall inevitably
sink and perish. I have not the courage to
contemplate the winds and the waves ; I am
tempted to fly to the mountain and build a
tabernacle there. But in the light of this
man's experience I will not. What know I
but that my courage may be sleeping beside
the sea, waiting till I come up and claim it !
What know I but that my treasure may be hid
in the very field which seems so desolate and
lonely ! Hast Thou not said even of Thyself,
'My hour is not yet come'! I may bear a
cross on Friday which I could not have borne
on the past Monday. If I cannot bear it on
Monday shall I say to my soul, ' Flee as a bird
to your mountain ' ! Nay, my Christ, for there
H

n4 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
may be potent powers of courage sleeping in
the folds of Friday. There are angels in the
wilderness who only show themselves in the
fasting hour. There are angels in Gethsemane
who only reveal themselves amid my crying
and tears. Shall I wait for the breaking of
the cloud before I face the rain ! Nay, for my
chariot may be in the cloud. I shall come
without strength to the storm ; I shall go
without weapons to the wilderness ; I shall
repair without guarantee to the Garden ; I
shall journey without courage to the Cross.
My shining will come with the shadow ; my
power will wake with the pain ; my courage
will rise with the conflict ; my fortitude will
dawn with the fire ; my nerve will be streng
thened with the need ; my resource will be
ready with the rain-cloud ; my boldness will
be born with the breeze. I shall walk with
Thee by faith till the fulness of the time.

CHAPTER VI
NICODEMUS THE INSTRUCTED
I AM glad that among the figures of the New
Testament Gallery there is a place assigned
to the student. Great as is our satisfaction
to see an acknowledgment of life's practical
callings, there would, I think, have been an
omission if there had been no portrayal of
the intellectual struggles of the soul. There
is such a portrayal. It appears in the por
trait of Nicodemus. He is distinctively the
man of study — the man of the night-lamp.
I do not mean that he represents exclusively
the life of the university. The student is
limited to no calling. He may be a fisherman
like Peter or a tax-gatherer like Matthew or
a tentmaker like Paul. Student life is not a
profession ; it is a state of mind. There are
very few of us who have not moments of the
115

116 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
night-lamp — times when we sit down and
ponder on the mysteries by which we are
surrounded. Even the foolish virgins have
their lamps — seasons when the seriousness of
life breaks through the crust of frivolity and
makes them ask the questions which are
habitual to the wise. The satisfactory thing
about the portraying of Nicodemus is not
that it recognises a particular profession, but
that it recognises a secret moment of every
human heart. It lifts the veil from the inner
most life of all men and women, and gives us
a glimpse into that sacred shrine which, after
all, is the noblest part of man.
In this picture of Nicodemus there are ex
hibited three phases of the student mind ;
one of them is good, the other two need
correction. We glance at each of these. We
begin with that which I have called good. It
is the tendency expressed in the saying that
Nicodemus ' came to Jesus by night.' I am
aware this is commonly recorded to his blame ;
it is attributed to cowardice. I do not think
this is the idea. I think the idea is, he was

; )

NICODEMUS THE INSTRUCTED 117
so eager that he could not wait till the morn
ing. And I feel sure that the Fourth Evan
gelist has made the historical fact a grand
symbol both of the man Nicodemus and of
the student life in general. Nicodemus waits
not for light to illumine his way. He comes
in a thick fog — groping, stumbling. The
portrait, in evident support of the metaphor,
introduces him in an attitude of deplorable
ignorance ; he has come to Christ, lighted by
a single star. And in this the picture sym
bolises the initial stage of all inquiry. To
every form of truth the student must come by
night ; he must accept evidence which is less
than demonstration. People talk as if Chris
tianity were in this an exceptional thing ; they
see in its demand for faith an ignoring of the
claims of science. But every scientific theory
makes the same demand. When Darwin
ventilated the doctrine of Evolution, he did
not say it had been proved. What he did say
in effect was this : ' I have found a key which
can unlock many of the doors of this universe.
It is perhaps the key which is meant to un-

118 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
lock all the doors. I will try. Encouraged
by the cases I have established, I shall start
by an act of faith. I shall assume that this
is the one key to the kingdom of Nature. I
shall apply it to the many locks as I have
applied it to the few. It may become Aladdin's
lamp to me — may open the secrets of creation
and unbar the gates of mystery. I shall not
wait to exhaust the facts before I form the
theory ; I shall begin with the theory and try
if it will fit the facts. I shall be content to
approach the Temple of Nature with only a
night-lamp in my hand ; I shall not linger for
the dawn.'
And this is the true source of all discovery
in every department of life. Take life itself.
With what a very small amount of light we
set out to face the world ! We come to it
with certain theories in our mind — some
gathered from stray testimonies, some derived
from the reading of romances. And yet with
this slender equipment we go forth into the
dark, not only without trembling, but full of
the most ardent hope — hope which in the

NICODEMUS THE INSTRUCTED 119
large majority of cases becomes the very key
which opens to us the door. But it is in the
sphere of knowledge that the principle is most
conspicuously, most trenchantly true, and
specially in that sphere which we call the
knowledge of God. To a mind encompassed
with doubts of a Divine Presence in the world
I would say : ' Follow the method which
originated the doctrine of Evolution. Start
with God as a working hypothesis. Do not
search for Him in the universe, but search the
universe through Him. Begin by assuming
Him. Say, I have found in Him a key which
fits several locks ; I want to try it on the
other locks. Let your coming be by night —
the night of faith. Do not wait till the
shadows have cleared away and the unclouded
Divine glory is revealed. Approach the
universe with a theory — the theory that there
is a God. Try the doors with that theory and
see if they will open. You will be surprised
at your success. You will have as many
trophies as the doctrine of Evolution — nay,
this theory will explain Evolution itself and

i2o THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
make it intelligible to all men.' There is no
attitude of mind so seemly in the student,
there is no search for knowledge at once so
scientific and so reverent, as that which permits
faith to precede full enlightenment — which
allows man to come by night.
This brings me to the second phase to which
the mind of the student is subject. I mean
the tendency to sink his own individuality in
the life of the race, or what he calls the spirit
of the age. This appears very prominently in
the case of Nicodemus. Other men when
they come into the presence of Jesus address
Him as individual suppliants; they say,
' Have mercy upon me ! ' But this man enters
into Christ's presence with qnite a unique
mode of address. He accosts Him as if he
were speaking in the name of a corporation,
as if he had been deputed to /carry a request
from a public body — ' Mastei1, we know that
Thou art a teacher come f|om God.' Here
again the popular view is that he is influenced
by fear — the wish not to commit himself to
a personal opinion regarding Christ. My own

NICODEMUS THE INSTRUCTED 121
view is that he is influenced purely by pride —
the pride characteristic of the inquirer. One
of the deepest desires of every student is to
be thought a child of his age — up to date, as
the phrase goes. It is a great mistake to
think that the tendency of intellectual youth
is personal independence. Its tendency is
the opposite — the identifying of personal
opinion with the view current among the
highest minds. To obtain the reputation of
this identity, to be called a true son of the
time, the inquirer is content to sacrifice origi
nality. He delights to repeat the opinions of
the scientific, to quote their names, to air their
views ; he begins all things with the formula,
' We know.'
Now, this is the position in which I would
place Nicodemus. However ignorant he him
self was, he belonged to a guild which was
regarded as the repository of Jewish learning.
With the opinions of that guild he was eager
to identify himself. He did not wish to be
thought peculiar, eccentric. He had no desire
that his coming to Christ should be interpreted

122 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
as a mental aberration. He was eager to
make it clear that he was saying nothing which
the Pharisaic party might not thoroughly en
dorse. His address is virtually a proposal of
terms — a statement of the conditions on which
he and his countrymen would be willing to
accept Jesus.
You will observe, Jesus resents this cor
porate mode of address on the part of
Nicodemus. I used to wonder why, midway
in His speech, He addresses Nicodemus as
if he were, not one man, but a whole company
of men — says ' ye ' instead of ' thou.' But the
reason has become clear. Nicodemus has
spoken to Jesus as if he were a collective
body of men ; Jesus answers him as if he
were a collective body of men. More striking
still is the fact that in His answer Jesus also
assumes a collective capacity : ' Verily, verily
I say unto thee, We speak what we do know
and testify what we have seen, and ye receive
not our witness.' It is the only instance I
know in the whole New Testament in which
our Lord speaks of Himself in the plural

NICODEMUS THE INSTRUCTED 123
number. He says on one occasion, ' If a man
love Me, My Father will love him, and We
shall come and take up our abode with him ' ;
but He is there speaking of two — Himself and
His Father. Here He speaks in His own
person, but He uses the editorial 'we.' Can
any man fail to see why ! It is a fine piece
of repartee. Nicodemus has identified himself
with his comrades ; Christ identifies Himself
with His followers. Nicodemus has appealed
to the spirit of an earthly age ; Christ appeals
to the spirit of the ages in heaven, to the
mode of thinking which prevails in the upper
sanctuary, to the fashion of a world which will
not pass away.
And let us remember that Christ has here
put His hand upon a real weakness of
Nicodemus and those whom he represents.
For this original tendency of student life is
one which needs to be corrected. Special!}
does it need to be corrected in the religious
sphere — the sphere of Nicodemus. The man
engaged in a study of God must beware,
above all things, of losing himself in the

124 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
crowd. To him at that moment there is
opening a stage of tremendous solemnity —
the sense of individual responsibility. In the
presence of that thought he should see the
whole multitude go out and leave him, alone.
The spirit of the age should count for nothing,
except so far as it corroborates his own. At
that moment, and for that moment, he should
feel himself the only man in the world, stand
ing before the most august of all problems,
and bound to give an answer from the depths
of his own soul. Nicodemus was confronting
one who had come to reveal this fact of
individual responsibility. Nicodemus himself
had belonged to another regime. The ad
herents of the Jewish faith had uniformly
merged the individual in the race. The man
only existed for the sake of the nation. It
was to her that the promises were addressed ;
it was to her that the warnings were offered.
The motto of every son of Israel was, ' My
life is my country.' In the interest of that
country he was to lose himself, in the fate
of that country he was to sink himself. The

NICODEMUS THE INSTRUCTED 125
personal life was to be absorbed in the
patriotic ; the individual being was to be
blended with the existence of the common
wealth. Judaism was essentially a national
religion — the man worshipped as a part of
the nation. There was some excuse for
Nicodemus saying, ' We know.' But Jesus
was to introduce a new regime. He was to
tell the world that in matters of faith every
man was to God a kingdom. He was to
proclaim that the individual and not the
nation was now to bulk largest in his sight.
He was to proclaim that the Jewish nation
would pass away, but that the man would
endure for ever. He was to proclaim that the
individual in his hour of religious contempla
tion ought to separate himself sharply from
his environment. He was to bid him enter
into his silent room and shut the door and
pray to his Father in secret — as if in all the
universe there were none other than they two.
The spirit of the age was to be forgotten.
His fellow-men were to be remembered in his
sympathy, but were to have no influence on

126 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
his example. He was to feel himself alone —
alone with the great problem of eternity,
alone with the presence of God.
Nicodemus learned in this interview with
Jesus the value of an individual soul, the
necessity that it should be lifted into a higher
life and born into a world which was in
dependent of Jewish heredity. How do we
know that he learned it? Because we have
a record on the subject. This man appears
before us at a later date and reveals himself
in a new attitude. In the interval the
atmosphere has changed. Jesus is no longer
the object of a kindly and somewhat con
temptuous patronage on the part of the
Sanhedrin. That august body has been
stirred with fear. The movement which at
first seemed capable of being incorporated
within its own boundaries has flashed out in
deadly and irreconcilable antagonism ; and
the Jewish Assembly, which yesterday was
ready to propose terms of union, is to-day
animated by only one desire — to crush and
annihilate the rising system. The Sanhedrin

NICODEMUS THE INSTRUCTED 127
is eager to arrest Jesus. It had the pene
tration to perceive what many professing
Christians have not perceived — that Chris
tianity is Christ, and that to strike at
Christianity you must strike at Christ. It
knew well that the whole force of the move
ment centred in one man, and that to slay
the one man was to destroy the entire army.
Accordingly, this supreme court resolves to
lay hands on Jesus. But there is one dissent
ing voice — the voice of Nicodemus. It is the
last voice we should have expected. We are
disposed to say, ' Is this the man who a little
while ago was eager to sink himself in the
spirit of the age ! ' He now stands forth
opposed to the age — stands out as a solitary
individual breasting the waves of a crowd, and
cries with fearless love of justice, 'Does our
law judge any man before it hears him ! ' We
marvel at the spectacle. It is not that we see
a growing stature — we expect time to bring
that. It is that we witness a transformation.
Nicodemus has changed his weakness into
a strength. He has become strong in the

128 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
very point in which he was defective. On the
night in which he stood before Jesus he was
unwilling to be alone ; on the day in which he
stands before the Sanhedrin he is unwilling
to be in company. He asserts the right of his
own individual soul. He is a fine example of
the difference between what is called nature
and what is called grace. Nature can improve
a man ; grace transforms him.
I come now to the third tendency in the life
of the inquirer. It is the pride of reason. As
applied to Christianity it takes the form of
trying to prove Christ from the outside — by
something not connected with His nature.
We see this with Nicodemus. He says, ' We
know that Thou art a teacher come from God,
for no man can do these miracles that Thou
doest except God be with him.' The answer
of Christ is striking and graphic — ' Verily
verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born
again he cannot see the kingdom of God.'
The words, as I take it, are strongly anti
thetical. Our Lord says : ' Nicodemus, you
claim to have arrived at knowledge. A man

NICODEMUS THE INSTRUCTED 129
makes a great profession when he says, I
know. There is something which must come
before knowledge, and that is sight. Unless a
man is born with a special faculty, he cannot
even see my kingdom — much less understand
it. You cannot reach the sense of my power
by a ladder of demonstration — though you
should mount for ages and ages. But you
may reach it in a moment, in the twinkling
of an eye, if only you can find the wings of
my spirit. If it come to you at all it must
come in a flash, in a thrill of intuition, in
a glance of the soul. It must be seen, not
proved ; and the man who sees it gives evi
dence that he has been born into a world
with larger powers than are at the command
of earth.'
We may illustrate the position of Nicodemus
by one coming to an artist and saying, ' I
know that the city of Edinburgh is beautiful,
because, if otherwise, every one would not
have agreed to call it so.' What would the
artist reply ? Would he not say : ' My friend,
your testimony is absolutely valueless. It
I

i3o THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
adds nothing to the weight of Edinburgh's
prestige. To have any value, your testimony
must be founded on sight. It must be in
dependent of any other witness. You must
be convinced by your own vision — convinced
with equal strength though all other witnesses
were contrary. You must be able to feel
that the beauty of Edinburgh to you needs
no vindication, that you would deem it as
fair if all the world contemned it, that it
shines to you by its own light and holds the
evidence of its own glory.'
The words of our Lord to Nicodemus have
often been deemed mystical. I see in them
neither mysticism nor mystery. Christianity
is no exception when it says, ' He who would
know me must be born into my spirit.'
There is not a study in the world which
would not say that. Have you ever asked
yourself what is the first requirement for any
study? A knowledge of facts? That is
very essential, but it is not the earliest
thing. A power of acute reasoning? That
is also very essential, but it comes into use

NICODEMUS THE INSTRUCTED 131
still later than the facts. There is something
behind these, earlier than these, and that is
the spirit of the study itself. Before a man
can even begin to inquire, he must ask him
self, Am I in sympathy with the subject? —
that question must precede all investigation
of facts and all lines of reasoning. It matters
not what the kingdom be, our first step must
be made here. Take the kingdom of art.
A man might buy all the pictures in a gallery,
might commit to memory their various sub
jects, might learn their date and authorship,
might study the lives of their different pain
ters, might even combine the scattered threads
of his information into a connected narrative
embodying the rational sequence of the artistic
history ; but all this would be only the out
side. One touch of inward sympathy would
make him independent of all these things.
He could dispense with historical knowledge.
He could dispense with financial expenditure.
He could dispense with efforts of memory.
He could feed upon a single picture — though
he knew not its name, though he knew not

132 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
its author, though he could not identify any
one of its figures. A very small amount of
influence from without is sufficient to stimu
late the spirit.
Now, the error of Nicodemus was that he
sought Christ for something on the outside.
He came to Him for what He wore — that
was the sting of the position. He was
attracted to Christ by His miracles. This
was to Christ quite equivalent to saying, ' I
love you for the dress you wear.' There lies
the reason for the sternness with which He
speaks to Nicodemus. If Nicodemus had
come and said, ' Master, I cannot believe in
your miracles unless I have seen them, but I
am already convinced of your Divine beauty,'
Jesus would have received him very differently;
for the only power He valued was the power
of the spirit, and He felt that the power of
His spirit was something which flesh and
blood could not reveal.
But here again Nicodemus has a magnifi
cent counterpart. We have seen how grandly
the previous tendency was reversed, trans-

NICODEMUS THE INSTRUCTED 133
formed. We have seen how the man who
clung to the fashion of his age became the
man who could stand to his opinion unbe-
friended and alone. We are now to see a
greater transformation still. This man who
at the beginning accepted Christ's miracles
and ignored His Divine beauty was able in
the end to ignore His miracles and accept
His beauty ! In the latest recorded scene in
which he appears before us he comes in a
deeper and darker night than that in which
he first sought the Lord. Jesus is dead.
All the Messianic hopes seem faded in the
dust. The hosannahs are hushed, the palm-
leaves are withered, the friends of summer
days have made their flight in the winter.
It was a time when, if the first view of
Nicodemus had been right, God must have
deserted Jesus. All power had vanished from
Him — even the power to live. There He
lay — shorn of His outward beams, denuded
of His visible glory, stripped of the robe
of earthly royalty! And it was at this
moment that Nicodemus came. He came

i34 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
to do homage to the dead, to embalm the
body of the prostrate Lord. He brought
myrrh and aloes of a hundred-pound weight
— far more than could possibly be used for the
purpose. It was like the woman's alabaster
box — the prodigality of love. And, like the
pouring out of that ointment, it was an
anointing for burial. He recognised Christ's
majesty in death — this man who had begun
with the love of the external ! He saw His
glory in the night ; he beheld His chariot
in a cloud ; he discerned His kingdom under
the trappings of the grave ! It was a grand
act, worthy to constitute our last glimpse of
the man. It was an act, moreover, which
lends to the picture of Christ's life a strange
poetic consistency. Twice in that picture do
we see the myrrh laid at the unconscious feet
of Jesus ; and both tributes are given by
inquiring minds. The first offering was laid
before the infant by the Persian Magi ; the
second was made to the dead Christ by the
Jewish Nicodemus. To me there is something
beautiful in the thought that, amid all the

NICODEMUS THE INSTRUCTED 135
selfish approaches to Jesus, amid all the
crowds that sought Him only for what He
could bestow, there were some who recognised
Him in the days of His weakness, and paid
their tribute to a sense of inward beauty.
The myrrh presented in the manger and the
myrrh lavished on Calvary are the truest em
balming of the greatness of our Lord.
T T is Thy death that has embalmed Thee,
-*- O Christ. Many things have glorified
Thee ; but death has embalmed Thee. The
myrrh and the aloes have remained in Thy
sepulchre. Nowhere dost Thou live in memory
so bright as in the valley of the shadow. In
a deeper sense than Nicodemus, we come to
Thee 'by night.' Not in Thy miracles art
Thou embalmed, but where Thy miracles have
ceased. We have seen Thy beauty where the
world saw only Thy weakness ; Thou hast
survived where men thought Thee most unfit.
We have brought our crown to Thy dis
crowned brow ; we have put our trust in Thine
unsceptred hand. We have kept our spices

136 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
for Thy grave. We have not scattered them
on Hermon where mighty words were spoken ;
we have not spread them in the wilderness
where wondrous bread was broken ; we have
not left them on the Transfiguration Mount
which gave Thee heaven's token. We have
passed these by. We have laid the myrrh
and aloes upon the altar of Thy sacrifice.
We have brought our faith to Thy seeming
feebleness, our prayer to Thine apparent power-
lessness. We have drawn courage from Thy
crucifixion, strength from Thy stripes, wealth
from Thy wounds, boldness from Thy blood.
We have seen Thy kingdom in the cloud,
Thine empire in the embers, Thy power in
the unbeating pulse, Thy glory in the grave-
clothes, Thy victory in the hour of vanquish-
ment, Thy destiny coming from the dust. We
pay our tribute to Thy cross. We lay our
myrrh and aloes where the old world laid
its scorn — upon Thy broken heart ; but one
who once belonged to that world meets us
at the garden gate and cries, ' You have done
well.' It is the voice of Nicodemus.

CHAPTER VII
THOMAS THE CONVINCED
There are two classes of minds which habitu
ally stand in the post of outlook — the man of
the laurel and the man of the cypress. The
first sees the world as rose-coloured. It is
all brightness, all beauty, all glory — a scene
of splendid possibilities which is waiting to
open for him its gates of gold. The second,
on the other hand, approaches it with dismay.
To him the prospect looks all dark. He is a
pessimist previous to experience. He is sure
he will never succeed. He is sure the gate
will not open when he tries it. He feels that
he has nothing to expect from life. He hangs
his harp upon a willow, and goes forth to sow
in tears.
And each of these has a representative in
the New Testament. I think the man of the
137

138 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
laurel is the evangelist John. From the very
beginning he is optimistic. Even when Christ
was on the road to that martyrdom of which
He had warned His disciples, John is so
sanguine of success that he applies for a
place in the coming kingdom. And through
life this optimism does not desert him. His
very power to stand beside the cross was a
power of hope. It was not that he excelled
his brother-disciples in the nerve to bear pain.
It was rather that to him the spectacle con
veyed an impression of less pain — that he saw
in it elements of triumph as well as trial, signs
of strength along with marks of sacrifice.
But if the man of the laurel is John, the
man of the cypress is assuredly Thomas.
There are men whose melancholy is the re
sult of their scepticism ; Thomas's scepticism
is the result of his melancholy. He came to
the facts of life with an antecedent prejudice ;
he uniformly expected from the banquet an
inferior menu. It is a great mistake to imagine
that the collapse came with the Crucifixion.
Strictly speaking, there was no collapse. If

THOMAS THE CONVINCED 139
I understand the picture aright, it represents
the figure of a man who could never stand
at his full stature but was always bent towards
the ground. It was not from timidity. He
was a courageous man, ready to do and dare
anything even when he was most downcast.
It was not from a mean nature. He was a
man of the noblest spirit — capable of the
most heroic deeds of sacrifice. That which
gave him a crouching attitude was simply a
constitutional want of hope — a natural in
ability to take the bright view. It was this
which made him a sceptic. He was indisposed
to give anything a trial. When the disciples
assembled at their first spiritual stance in the
hope of getting a vision of their risen Lord,
he refused to attend ; 1 when told that a vision
had been given, he refused to believe it. It
was too good news to be true. He would
have believed the story of an earthquake or
a pestilence or a shipwreck ; but he could not
1 I think the same religious hopelessness would keep him
from attending the meeting for silent individual prayer in
Gethsemane ; I do not believe he was one of those who fled
that night.

140 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
credit the earth with the power to witness a
scene of glory.
Now, the question which arises is this, Why
is Thomas so leniently treated ? He demands
as an evidence of the risen Christ that very
kind of proof which the Pharisees had de
manded as an evidence of the Divine Christ —
a physical sign. We know how Christ treated
the Pharisaic demand, how He had said, ' An
evil and adulterous generation seeketh after a
sign, and there shall no sign be given unto it.'
Is it thus that our Lord meets Thomas ? On
the contrary, He grants his request — not per
haps without reproach, but certainly without
loss of tenderness ; He bids him put forth his
hand and touch the material sign — the print
of the nails. There must have been some
thing in Thomas which won upon Christ,
which made the request in his case compara
tively harmless. What was it? It is a ques
tion well worthy of our consideration. We
are familiar with the saying that circumstances
alter cases ; it is equally true that persons
alter cases. The boon of a physical sign

THOMAS THE CONVINCED 141
denied to the Jewish nation is granted to
a Jewish individual. There must have been
something in that individual which to the
eye of the Master changed the complexion
of the case and rendered it possible to relax
the rigidness of the rule.
And a moment's reflection will convince us
that in the picture of Thomas we have a
specimen quite unique in the male section
of Christ's first hearers — a figure which must
have been unique even to Jesus Himself.
For consider, the natural melancholy of this
man made his approach to Christ an unselfish
one. He expected nothing from the world —
nothing from a world even under the auspices
of Christ. Yet he came to Christ — spite of
this absence of physical expectation. What
ever drew him to the Master, it could have
been nothing external. Here was something
fresh and new. All around Him Christ saw
men who came on the chance of a physical
glory. The sign they asked was not so much
a sign of Christ as a sign of their own
felicity. Even the circle of the apostolic

142 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
band was pervaded by the hope of a physical
glory. With some it took the form of
Messianic conquest ; with others, like Simon
Peter, it assumed the aspect of an earthly
Paradise far from the din of men. But
whatever form it took, it had always the
same essence — outward reward. The Christ
was measured by His power to change the
present order of physical things — to place
two ignorant fishermen at the right hand
of heaven, to bid the stones be turned into
bread, to change earth's water into plenteous
wine, and expand the few loaves into food
for the million.
But here is a man who approaches Jesus in
a totally different attitude. He was a man
of the cypress — a man to whom the world
did not present possibilities. I do not say
it did not present attractions; but where
attractions are believed to be beyond our
reach they have no motive power. It is a
proverbial saying that an infant cries for the
moon. But the infant cries for the moon
because it believes that luminary to be within

THOMAS THE CONVINCED 143
its reach ; if it had a contrary belief, we are
absolutely safe in stating that it would not
cry. AH aspiration is born of hope. If I
believe an object to be beyond the stretch
of my arm, I do not stretch my arm towards
it. It is equally true with the things of the
heart. I do not make an effort to attain that
which I know to be entirely above me ; desire,
in such cases, is paralysed on the threshold.
And such I conceive to be the case of Thomas.
He looked at the world from under his
cypress-tree, and he pronounced it an im
possible world — a world whose gates of pro
motion and whose doors of promise were
not for him. He had too keen a sense of
life's difficulties to be impelled by any worldly
hope in Christ, and therefore he never could
have joined Christ for any such motive. Yet
he did join Him. He threw in his lot with
Jesus and accompanied His train. Why ?
So must have asked the Son of Man Him
self; and the answer His mind gave must
have been refreshing in the extreme. Amid
the many who came to Him for His sur-

144 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
roundings, here was one who came to Him
for Himself. Christ beheld in Thomas a
devotion to His person. Had he recognised in
the Master some of his own cypress leaves —
something which prevented Him from having
fulness of joy ? I cannot tell ; but I know
that the man of depression drew close to
the Man of Sorrows, and I feel that the bond
between them was stronger than any material
chain. In this portrait of Thomas I think there are
revealed two things of great significance. We
see a Christian love in the absence of a Chris
tian creed ; and we see what is more remark
able still — a Christian faith in the absence of
a Christian creed. Let us look at each of
these separately.
And first. Let us take one central incident
in the portraiture of Thomas. Perhaps if the
question were asked, What is the most central
incident in the portraiture of Thomas? the
majority would answer, ' The touching of the
nail-prints.' That is not my opinion. I think
the circumstance which most broadly marks

THOMAS THE CONVINCED 145
the character of Thomas is his attitude towards
Jesus on hearing of the death of Lazarus.
Let us review the facts for a moment.
There has been a commotion in the streets
of Jerusalem. The transition of Jesus from
the work of a reformer to the work of a
theologian has produced also a transition in
the feelings of the multitude. They pass at a
bound from applause to reprobation. Goaded
by the suggestion of heresy in His teaching,
they assail Him with stones. The majesty of
Christ's presence saves Him — paralyses the
directness of their aim. Evading the fury of
the populace, He retires into a secluded place,
and for some time is visible only to His dis
ciples. At last, to this desert spot come
tidings of the death of Lazarus. Then Jesus
resolves to return. The disciples are startled
— on His account and their own. They are
very unwilling to come into the vicinity of a
place which had been so fraught with fear, so
full of danger. Jesus, for His part, is deter
mined. He says, ' I go.' He does not ask
any one to accompany Him ; He simply ex-
K

146 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
presses His personal resolve. Then through
the silence one man speaks out for the com
pany — ' Let us also go, that we may die with
Him ! ' It is the voice of Thomas.
Now, I say that this utterance of Thomas
reveals at one and the same moment the
deepest scepticism and the highest love. The
scepticism does not lie in his expectation of
Christ's death. That was the very thing which
Christ wished His disciples to expect, nay, to
build their hopes upon. But the scepticism of
Thomas comes out in the belief that the death
of Jesus would be the death of His kingdom.
' Let us go, that we may die with Him.' The
man who uttered these words had, at the time
when he uttered them, no hope of Christ's
resurrection. No man would propose to die
with another if he expected to see him again
in a few hours. Thomas, at that moment, had
given up all intellectual belief. He saw no
chance for Jesus. He did not believe in His
physical power. He had made up his mind
that the forces of the outer world would be too
strong for Him, would crush Him. The peni-

THOMAS THE CONVINCED 147
tent said to the dying Lord, ' Remember me
when Thou comest in Thy kingdom.' Thomas
could not say that ; he saw no kingdom be
yond the death ; he could only cry, ' Let me
die with Him ! '
But what a cry was that ! It was the voice
of a boundless love. The natural sequence to
the view held by Thomas would have been,
' The game is lost ; save yourselves who can ! '
The average man would have said, 'Our Master
is bent on a course which must inevitably end
in the ruin of His cause ; it now becomes im
perative that we should provide for ourselves.'
Thomas says, on the contrary, ' It now be
comes imperative that I should share His
ruin — die with Him.' It is what I would call
the logic of love — a kind of reasoning which
on any other ground would be deemed absurd.
It never occurred to Thomas that there could
be a possibility of separation between his in
terests and the interests of his Master. In his
mind they were one. He would have been
glad to have shared in His good fortune had
good fortune been His lot ; but since the

148 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
cypress and not the laurel had been His, the
only remaining consolation was the possibility
of being overtaken by the same storm and
crushed in the same ruin. I know not in all
the opening life of the apostolic band where to
look for such a form of love. To find it in the
primitive Gospel I must go out of that band.
To meet with a perfect analogy I must go to
those women who followed Jesus from the
obscurity of Galilee to the obsequies of the
grave. I think they were animated by the
love that dwelt within the heart of Thomas —
the love which could exist even amid the
belief that Christ had no outward sun. I
think these women believed that Christ had no
outward sun. They came to the sepulchre ;
but it was not because they looked for His
resurrection ; it was to anoint His body with
the spices. Their whole solicitude was for the
preservation of the body ; ' They have taken
away my Lord,' cries one of them, 'and I
know not where they have laid Him ! ' They
never would have brought the spices if they
had expected a resurrection. Why anoint a

THOMAS THE CONVINCED 149
body for the grave which the grave in a few
hours was to yield up to life and liberty !
The bringing of the spices was the highest
proof of their shattered creed, and it was at
the same moment the strongest evidence of
their deathless love. They had taken up at
the last the uncrowned Christ whom they had
accepted at the beginning, and they had
lavished upon Him all the treasure of their
hearts. To these feminine souls Thomas was
more allied than to any of the first apostles in
their first days. He was drawn to the Master
by something which the world could neither
give nor take away ; he had not expected the
crown and he was not repelled by the cross.
But this same fact has a second aspect. It
not only reveals a Christian love existing in
the absence of a creed, but a Christian faith
existing in the absence of a creed. For, let us
understand distinctly what that was for which
Thomas was prepared to die. It was an ideal.
Paul says there is a faith which worketh by
love. The love of Thomas reveals such a
faith. What he proposed to die for was really

150 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
a belief — the belief that death with Jesus was
better than life without Him. I would call
this a dogma of love as distinguished from a
dogma of knowledge. It was an article of
faith prescribed by the heart and enshrined
in the book of the affections. Thousands of
martyrs have died for their faith in Jesus ;
Thomas was willing to do so too. What is
the difference between the faith of Thomas
and the faith of the martyrs ? It is this :
The martyrs saw the sacrifice from under the
laurel ; Thomas contemplated it from beneath
the cypress. The martyrs had their eye upon
the rainbow ; Thomas looked upon the cloud.
The martyrs were convinced, not only of
Christ's spiritual beauty, but of His physical
power ; Thomas was satisfied only of the
former. The martyrs beheld an eternity be
yond ; Thomas did not. Hence the martyrs
really said, ' Let us die for Him ' ; Thomas
exclaimed, ' Let us die with Him.' It is the
difference between optimism and pessimism ;
but it is not a difference in the intensity of
faith. When I say, ' I believe in that man,'

THOMAS THE CONVINCED 151
I express my confidence in the man himself
— confidence in his honour, in his uprightness,
in his integrity of character. If I should be
obliged to entertain dark views about his
worldly prospects, this will sadden me, but it
will in no wise shake my faith. My faith was
not in his worldly prospects, but in himself —
in my ideal of the man ; and that ideal will
remain unbroken, undimmed, unaltered, by
any contingency that can befall his fortunes.
But behind this cry of Thomas there is
something more — something which gives his
faith an aspect higher than he himself knew.
For, what was this determination to die with
Jesus? It was really an unconscious act of
homage to the majesty of a human soul. He
was declaring, not by word but by deed, that
mind is greater than matter, nay, that a single
mind can to him outweigh all the material
glories of the universe — its suns and its sys
tems, its silver and its gold. The man whose
deed could say that, was very near the hope
of immortality. He might call himself an
agnostic, an unbeliever, a man without a

i52 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
creed ; but the mental act of sacrifice to the
majesty of mind proclaimed him not far from
the vision of eternal life. I do not wonder
that Jesus offered him an aid to the belief
in resurrection. It was worth while to help
such a soul. He was nearer to the belief in
resurrection than many who professed it. He
had not seen the city of gold ; but he had
seen the transcendent beauty of the human
soul. To have the vision of such a beauty is
to be more than half-way to the happy land
of Beulah. There are a greater number in
the world like Thomas than the world dreams
of. There are those whom we call secularists,
nay, who call themselves so. They say,
' Never mind looking beyond the skies ; let
us attend to the wants of our brother-man ;
let us surrender our lives to the life of
humanity ! ' And many of these labour in
that cause with great success. But why ? It
is because, like Thomas, they think man more
worth serving than matter. There is more
in their heart than in their catechism. Their
catechism says, ' Do not look beyond the

THOMAS THE CONVINCED 153
earth'; but their eye has in an unconscious
moment already looked beyond and seen that
humanity is more than common clay. Living
philanthropy is latent faith.
I have been endeavouring to account for
the problem involved in that wonderful episode
of the Picture where Thomas is represented as
asking a special sign that Christ has risen —
' Except I shall see in His hands the print of
the nails, and thrust my hand into His side,
I will not believe.' The problem lies in the
fact that the request is granted — that Christ
in the case of Thomas departs from His usual
practice of discouraging speculative curiosity.
But where we err is in attributing that spirit
to Thomas. I have heard Thomas described
again and again as a speculative mind — a
mind seeking to dive into the secrets of
the future. A more unfair view of his posi
tion is not to be conceived. Perhaps he
was the least speculative of all the apostles,
and for the very reason that he was the least
hopeful. Speculation is inspired by hope. It
was hope that made Peter see his vision at

154 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Joppa. It was hope that gave John his vision
at Patmos. It was hope that opened to Paul
a glimpse of the highest heaven. But Thomas
was not a man of hope ; he was a man of
despair. Curiosity was no part of his nature.
His cry for a sign of the risen Christ was not
really a cry for the resurrection ; the present
life had not been so bright to him as to make
him interested in another. But what he was
interested in was the survival of his Lord
Himself. What cried out for satisfaction was
not his curiosity but his love. The sign he
asked was a sign that his Master was alive
— a sign that he could meet Him again, speak
to Him again, commune with Him again.
Thomas had no wish to lift the curtain of
eternity. He was content to remain in ignor
ance of what 'the angels desire to look into.'
All he wanted was to be convinced that his
Lord was in the land of the living by the
touch of a vanished hand and the sound of
a voice that had been still.
And Christ granted him that conviction.
' Reach hither thy finger,' He says, ' and be-

THOMAS THE CONVINCED 155
hold My hands, and thrust thy hand into
My side, and be not faithless but believing ' ;
and with a great cry love recognises its ob
ject and clasps its restored treasure. But
even in his moment of transport Thomas
receives an intimation that the sign which he
asked was not the best thing — ' Because thou
hast seen, thou hast believed ; blessed are
they that have not seen and yet have be
lieved.' What does Christ mean by these
words? It is worth while asking, for they
express the reason of His habitual unwilling
ness to reveal Himself by material signs.
Are we to understand that it is a more
blessed thing to believe on slender evidence
than on grounds of assured conviction ? This
is, I think, the common interpretation. The
value of faith is supposed to lie in its want
of credentials. One of the Church fathers
says, ' I believe, because it is impossible.' It
reminds one of the familiar story of a little
girl in a Sunday-school who, when asked to
define ' faith,' wrote this answer — ' It is the
power to believe something which you know

156 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
to be false.' But our Lord's view here is just
the opposite of this. When He says, ' Blessed
are they that have not seen and yet have
believed,' He means that they are blessed be
cause their faith rests on higher evidence —
the evidence not of the sense but of the soul.
The writer of the Acts says that Christ burst
the bands of death because it was not possible
death should hold Him. This is what I call
unseen evidence — his Christ was not immortal
because He rose from the grave ; He rose
from the grave because He was immortal. If
the rising had taken place unknown to any
human soul, it would not have altered this
man's opinion. Christ and death were to
him two irreconcilable quantities ; he could
not think of them together. His formula
would be, not ' the Resurrection proves Christ,'
but ' Christ proves the Resurrection.' That
is a faith which Christ pronounces, which we
must pronounce, blessed. To feel that the
life of Jesus is its own witness, that the purity
of His heart is bound to see the King in His
beauty, that the self-surrender of His spirit

THOMAS THE CONVINCED 157
ensures Him the kingdom of heaven, that His
mourning for sin demands in the hereafter a
compensating comfort, that His meekness
merits a future inheritance, that His hunger
and thirst after man's righteousness has a
claim to be filled 'in the sweet by and by'
— this is a faith which rests upon a rock im
pregnable, and compared to whose blessedness
the sight of material wonders is poor indeed.

T ORD, there are times in which my ex-
J — ' perience is the experience of Thomas.
There are days when I hear not the bells
of Easter Morn. I tread the road to Emmaus,
and I meet not the risen Christ. I call to
the five hundred brethren, and they answer
not. I stand on the mountain of Galilee, and
there comes no voice amid the breezes. I
sail on Gennesaret's lake, and I see no vision.
I frequent the upper room, and get no hint
of His presence. My faith cannot walk by
sight in hours like these. What shall I do
at such times, O Lord ! Hast Thou a remedy

158 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
for the loss of light ? Yes, my Father. Thou
hast a gate where faith can enter without
seeing where it goes ; its name is Love. Lead
me by that gate when my eye is dim ! When
I cannot follow Him to Olivet, let me worship
Him on Calvary ! When betimes I lose sight
of His risen form, do not shut me out from
the bearing of His name ! In the days when
immortal hope is dim, make room in my
heart for immortal memory ! If I cannot
soar with Him into heaven, let me at least
go back to finish His work on earth ! Let
me gather the fragments of the cross which
remain on the Dolorous Way ! Let me dis
tribute of the twelve baskets which were not
served in the wilderness ! Let me take up
His burden at the spot where He was too
faint to carry it ! Let me mourn with the
Marthas whose Lazarus I cannot raise ! Let
me pray with the paralytics whose weakness
I cannot cure ! Let me sing to the sightless
whose eyes I cannot open ! Let me lend to
the lepers the touch of a brother's hand ! Let
me find for the fallen a chance to renew their

THOMAS THE CONVINCED 159
days ! Then shall my evidence come back —
brighter, stronger. Then shall my Easter
Morn shine again through the clouds of
night. Then shall I know the meaning of
these words : ' Blessed are they that have not
seen, and yet have believed.'

CHAPTER VIII
PHILIP THE DISILLUSIONED
A COLOURLESS face may have very strong
features. There are faces in the New Testa
ment Gallery whose colourlessness repels us.
We wonder how they have found their way
into such an august company. To drop the
metaphor, their lives seem devoid of incident.
Their names occur but once or twice on the
Sacred Page, and in a connection apparently
so trivial as to leave nothing worth trans
mitting. But as we look longer and closer,
we change our mind. We feel as if suddenly
a microscope had been put into our hand.
The seeming trifle assumes magnitude, the
passing reference becomes big with suggestion,
the commonplace statement is found to be
full of significance ; and the man who at first
appeared a mere cipher takes his place among
160

PHILIP THE DISILLUSIONED 161
the leading men of the Gallery and the repre
sentative men of the world.
One of the best instances of this is, I think,
to be found in Philip of Bethsaida. The
common impression is that we know nothing
about him. For a long time I studied his
countenance in vain. It seemed expression
less, characterless. No ray flashed from the
eye to awaken human interest. The man
appeared a lay figure placed in the group
merely to fill up a gap. Was there any
personality about him — anything worth con
verting, worth transmitting, worth transform
ing? At first one was disposed to answer,
No. Yet I felt that my impression must be
wrong. This man was sought out by Jesus
Himself. He was the first who ever heard
the Christian command, ' Follow me ! ' Jesus
sought those who were sick — physically,
morally, or mentally. His seeking of Philip
implied that there was something to remove.
I felt that this ' something ' must be indicated,
and that if I searched long enough I ought
to find it. I did search, long and patiently,
L

162 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
and I think I have found it — have discovered
that element in Philip which rendered him
a man requiring the Master's care and re
presenting through all time one section of
mankind. The question then is, What is, in Philip's
case, the stone which had to be rolled from
the door of the sepulchre, in other words,
what was the original imperfection of his
nature ? We have seen the moral impedi
ments of others — how the Baptist needed
expansion, John self -forgetfulness, Peter
courage, Nathanael robustness, Nicodemus
instruction, Thomas hope. What did Philip
need ? Can we put our hand upon his barrier ?
Can we tell the nature of that moral struggle
which raises his life from insignificance to
interest, and gives him a permanent place
among the great cloud of witnesses ?
I think we can. It seems to me that the
moral impediment of Philip was an illusion
about the nature of the religious life. He
thought religion was something above the
common plain. It was too serious a matter

PHILIP THE DISILLUSIONED 163
to be concerned in the ordinary duties of the
world, too solemn a thing to be brought down
to streets and ' openings of the gates.' By
all means the duties of the hour should be
attended to, but they ought to have their
own agencies. Religion should be made to
dwell in a higher and purer atmosphere. It
should be kept for ecstatic moments in which
the world can be forgotten and time can be
no more — moments in which the soul is
carried right into the presence of its God,
and hears things which cannot be spoken
amid the duties of the earthly day. At such
times the world must drop from a man like
Elijah's garment, and all his mundane respon
sibilities must be overshadowed by another
and a higher life.
Why do I think that this was the original
view of Philip? From two episodes in his
history, both recorded in the Fourth Gospel.
Nothing can exceed the apparent difference
between these two episodes. The one is at
the breaking of bread in the wilderness ; the
other occurs at that solemn hour when

i.64 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Christ in His farewell sermon was raising
the thoughts of His disciples to the sources
of spiritual peace. The one is in the sphere
• of the secular ; the other is in the region
which men call sacred. The one is concerned
with the wants of the body ; the other is
occupied with the needs of the soul. The
one is a scene of philanthropy ; the other is
a scene of piety. In both of these opposite
episodes Philip is a prominent figure. And
yet I have no hesitation in saying that in
each of them he has one and the same atti
tude. In each of these varied circumstances
we find the man subject to the same illusion
— the belief that religion is something too
high and holy to be identified with the good
works of common day. I think this will
become evident if we consider the episodes
separately. I begin with the earlier. Jesus has crossed
the Sea of Tiberias and has reached its eastern
shore. Great crowds are coming in the same
direction — some from the scattered ranks of
the Baptist, some consisting of the pilgrims

PHILIP THE DISILLUSIONED 165
to the Passover at Jerusalem. Both are
naturally drawn to Jesus — the disciples of the
Baptist by a kindred association, the Passover
pilgrims by a spirit of devotion. We should
have thought Jesus would have grasped the
moment as one eminently adapted to the
spread of His doctrines. Strange to say, His
whole interest is bent upon something else.
He thinks entirely of the physical wellbeing of
that crowd. They must already be hungry
and faint with their journey. If they are to
interrupt that journey to listen to Him, they
will be more faint and hungry still. Accord
ingly, Christ's primal care is for their bodies,
their food, their nourishment. He intends
that before all things they shall receive pro
vision for their temporal wants. But he is not
content to achieve that ; He wishes His dis
ciples to go along with Him, to sympathise
with Him. And so, He starts a problem of
political economy — How shall we procure
food for this multitude ; is there any neigh
bouring store from which we can buy ? It is
Philip that He addresses — probably because

166 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
He feels that Philip is the most likely to be
surprised at such a human interest on His
part. Philip's answer is certainly not sym
pathetic — ' It is impossible ; even if you could
get two hundred pennyworth of loaves it would
not suffice to give a small amount to each ;
the scheme must be abandoned.'
For this answer Philip has reaped much
obloquy. The obloquy is just ; but I think it
is bestowed on wrong grounds. Philip is
blamed for losing faith in the Messianic power
of Jesus — a power in which originally he
strongly believed. But I do not think this
was really his position. This man was no
sceptic about the claims of Christ. He had
not lost one jot of his faith in the Messianic
mission of Jesus. Where he erred was in
denying to that Messianic mission a right to
be interested in what he called trifles. It is
another form of the objection to the blessing
pronounced on the little children. The love
for children was all right, and the nurture and
admonition of children were desirable; but
to single them out as a section of Christ's

PHILIP THE DISILLUSIONED 167
army, to ordain them publicly to a great
Messianic work — this was something which
seemed incongruous with the Christ. So did
the proposal in the wilderness. Benevolence
was good and the wants of the poor a legiti
mate subject of solicitude ; but it was deemed
a subject for the economist, for the capitalist,
for the citizen. It was surely no part of the
province of Messiah Himself! Was it not a
thing for His agents, His subordinates ! Was
not the Messiah's work cosmopolitan — con
cerned with momentous issues and big with
solemn interests ! It could never be expected
that He should interrupt that work to give
personal attention to a trifle of the hour !
I feel sure that this, and not want of faith,
was the motive of Philip's answer to Jesus.
It was his opinion that Jesus would not think
it worth while to manifest His power in a
scene so humble. And I believe that in His
subsequent act of political economy the design
of Jesus was to counteract this impression.
The narrative as given by St. John clearly
implies that Jesus intended here to make

1 68 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Himself the subject of a special revelation.
But what about Himself did He wish to reveal ?
Was it the fact that He had power to expand
a meagre repast into a great banquet ? No ;
it was the fact that He had the will to do so,
that He did not deem it beneath His dignity
to do so. That was what He wanted the
multitude to learn ; that was what He wanted
Philip to learn ; that was what He desired the
world of all times to learn. We have still our
Philips among us — men of devout faith who
yet by their very devotion divide God too
much from man. To all such the old narrative
carries the eternal moral that the God of the
telescope must be the God of the microscope
too, and that the Power which guides the
Pleiades must be able to direct a sparrow's
wing. The later Isaiah says of God, ' He
calleth the stars all by name ; because He is
great in power not one faileth.' The Philips
of the world would have inverted the state
ment, would have said, ' Because He is great
in power He cannot be expected to take care
of individuals.' But the words of the prophet

PHILIP THE DISILLUSIONED 169
are held true also by the evolutionist, and
religion has here found an ally in science.
The claim of seeming trifles to be subjects of
Universal Law is one of the greatest lessons
this world has ever received.
I come now to the second episode which
indicates the limitation in the character of
Philip. It occurs in a totally different direc
tion, but it reveals the same tendency. The
scene is that hour between the Passover and
Gethsemane when Jesus delivers His parting
message. It is distinctively a message to the
troubled heart. Other messages had been
addressed to different sides of human nature.
Some had been spoken to the troubled body ;
they had brought the words of healing. Some
had been spoken to the troubled conscience ;
they had breathed the words of pardon. Some
had been spoken to the troubled spirit —
troubled as to where lay its road to duty ;
they had pointed, like the Sermon on the
Mount, to a life of sacrifice. But this last
message of our Lord was spoken to the
troubled heart. It was a season of bereave-

170 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
ment. The disciples were losing the object
of their dearest love. For the first time per
haps in their lives, their souls were intent on
the problem of immortality. Therefore it is
of immortality that Christ speaks. He tells
them of a life beyond, of a place which He is
about to prepare for them in the mansions of
heaven. He tells them that He is going to
no foreign scene, but to the house of His
Father. He tells them that neither will they
find it foreign — that they will be where He is,
and so have a sense of home. But Christ's
deep teaching has taught these men to be
critical. They begin to question — they ask
how they are to get there, and where the
region lies. Then Philip makes a bold pro
posal. He suggests a method by which all
doubts will be lulled to rest. Let Christ give
them a vision of the Father — of the Father
Himself — of the primal source of all being,
without any intermediate veil. You will
observe the thoroughness of the demand. He
wants no manifestation from the stage — Jesus
had given many such. He wants to get

PHILIP THE DISILLUSIONED 171
behind the scenes, to get into the greenroom,
to know the private counsels which guide the
drama of life. He is determined to go to the
root of the matter, and the root of the matter
is to him the beginning of creation, 'Lord,
show us the Father, and it suffketh.'
Now, there is one respect in which Philip
was right. He was right in thinking that our
best evidence of immortality comes from the
vision of the Father. I cannot understand
how any man who has a firm conviction of
the fatherhood of God can be sceptical about
the immortality of the soul. Remember, I
speak of the fatherhood of God. I do not
think the mere belief in an author of the
universe is sufficient to bring the conviction
of human immortality. We have seen men
like Francis Newman accepting the existence
of a Supreme Power and yet refusing their
assent to the other doctrine. No man would
be entitled to say, ' Show us that there is an
unknown power in the universe, and it suf-
ficeth.' But every man is entitled to say,
' Show us the Father, and it sufficeth.' It was

172 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
not there that the fault of Philip lay ; Christ's
answer virtually admits that he was right.
The highest evidence of immortality is the
vision of a God who has a relation to the
human soul. The very incompleteness of that
soul then becomes an argument in its favour.
For, in the light of Divine fatherhood, we say,
' God will not leave His structure unfinished ;
He must have determined to finish it else
where.' Tennyson cries, ' Thou art just ; Thou
wilt not leave me in the dust.' It may seem
a bold thing in a matter of this kind to appeal
to the justice rather than to the mercy of God.
It is worse than bold if God be not our
Father. But if God be our Father, His mercy
and His justice are one. The yearning of a
human soul becomes itself a claim. The
aspiration of a human heart becomes itself a
right. The cry of a human spirit becomes
itself a call for the fulfilment of a promise.
Philip, then, was justified in his view that
the shortest road to the hope of immortality
is a vision of the Father. But he neutralised
his doctrine by taking a long road to that

PHILIP THE DISILLUSIONED 173
vision. Where Philip erred was in the belief
that a vision of the Father was best reached
by getting away from human contact or, to
repeat the old metaphor, by quitting the stage
for the greenroom. To him the Divine was
something apart from the human ; to behold
it he must withdraw himself. He must retire
from the footlights, from the drapery, from the
actors in the scenes of time. He must get
behind the scenes. He must seek a moment
of ecstasy in which he will be raised above
the things of the day and of the dust and
ushered into that august Presence which tran
scends the works of man.
And this is the view of Philip which our
Lord combats here. He tells him that the
knowledge of the Father is not reached in
the way he supposes. He tells him that the
love of the Father is learned on the stage of
time — not behind it, ' He that has seen Me
hath seen the Father, and how sayest thou
then, Show us the Father ! ' He tells him that
it is not where human work is transcended
that we get our deepest glimpse of the Divine ;

174 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
it is precisely where human work is richest —
' The Father that dwelleth in Me doeth the
works.' Would Philip believe in Divine father
hood, let him study human brotherhood. Let
him consider the spirit of Christ as it exists
in the world. Let him ponder how through
that spirit man has sacrificed for man, how
love has dared many a cross, how sympathy
has shared many, a sorrow, how pity has dried
many a tear, how compassion has healed many
a pain, how benevolence has assuaged many
a hunger. Let him ponder these things, and
he will reach a clearer vision of the fatherhood
of God than if he stood in the forest primeval
in the solitary presence of the Divine.
Such is the burden of Christ's message to
Philip. I have been struck with the fact that
before it became a formal message it was made
a practical training. We read that — some
three years earlier — immediately after Jesus
had called him to join the league of pity, he
brought another man to the league — 'Philip
findeth Nathanael.' Why does he rush at
once to secure a companion in his own calling ?

PHILIP THE DISILLUSIONED 175
We do not wonder when we are told that
Andrew, after his own call, finds his brother
Simon. These were brothers, and it was
inevitable that either adversely or favourably
the^ act of the one should influence the other.
But Philip and Nathanael were not brothers ;
to find the latter required a seeking on the
part of the former. Why does Philip hasten
to implant in the heart of another a conviction
at which he himself had only arrived yester
day ? I believe the answer to be that he was
told to do so. I think that the moment he
gave his allegiance to Jesus, Jesus said to him,
' Find Me an additional man.' And I believe
the reason of this request was not the helping
of Jesus but the helping of Philip. Jesus
might have called Nathanael by a telepathic
message ; but Philip would thereby have lost
an element in his education. If Philip was
the man we have found him to be — with a
tendency to underrate the practical, there
could be no better introduction to his Christian
training than to give him practical work. He
ought not to be allowed to go home and

176 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
dream of twelve legions of angels. Let him
look to the help of his brother-man, nay, let
him make an effort to initiate that help. Let
him use his human judgment. Let him find
a man himself — one whom he believes to be
fitted for the great work of inaugurating the
future kingdom. All education should be
directed to the weak point of a nature. If
you see one like Paul whose life has been
entirely occupied with the practical, send him
into Arabia — seclude him for a time that he
may meditate. If, on the other hand, you see
one like Philip disposed to look for God in
things behind the scenes, send him into the
practical world — let him find an additional
man. As a further contribution to this training,
Philip, in the latest days of Christ's ministry, is
made the instrument of a wondrously prac
tical work quite on the lines of his search for
Nathanael. If you or I were suddenly asked
the question, Which of the Christian disciples
brought the earliest help to the Gentiles? I do
not think we should immediately hit the answer.

PHILIP THE DISILLUSIONED 177
We should probably say ' Paul ' or ' Peter ' or
' Stephen.' But in truth there was one before
any of these — it was Philip. After our Lord
Himself, the first who spoke a word to the
Gentiles was this obscure man of Bethsaida.
Before Peter had called Cornelius, before
Stephen had lifted his voice, before Paul had
raised his banner, Philip had brought a Gentile
band into the presence of Jesus. True, they
were the descendants of Jews ; 1 but they had
been born in a foreign land, bred in a foreign
culture, trained in foreign ideas. They had
become Greeks in nationality, Greeks in educa
tion, Greeks in taste, Greeks in manner. But
they had heard of the fame of Jesus, and they
longed to see Him. Their pride in the old
ancestry was not dead. They were glad that
where their fathers' homes had been, there
had risen a great light. How were they to
gaze upon that light ? The Jews would now
despise them, count them aliens. Yet they
1 I have taken this view instead of the prevalent one which
makes these men pure Greeks ; I do not think the latter view
sufficiently accounts for their interest in Jesus.
M

178 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
would try. The Passover Feast was coming
on ; they would go up to Jerusalem ; perchance
some one might show them the new star.
They come ; and they are gladdened by a dis
covery. Among the names of Christ's inner
circle they hear of one which is Greek — Philip.
They are attracted by the kindred sound. Is
not this the man to lead them to Jesus — a
man with an affinity of name to the names
of their own countrymen ! And so Philip
becomes the medium of the first Gentile wave.
To him is it granted to open the door. To
him is committed the privilege of unveiling
the Christ to the eyes of other lands. To him,
above all, is assigned the glory of performing
the great marriage between the East and the
West, and of joining the hand of Europe to
the hand of Asia !
Was there any fruit of this union ? Did the
meeting of Philip with the Greeks produce
any effect on history? Let me hazard a
suggestion — a suggestion which, so far as I
know, has not been made before, but which
has long been graven on my own mind.

PHILIP THE DISILLUSIONED 179
Some years afterwards there appeared in the
Christian world a young man of great power
and promise. He was a Greek of Jewish
descent, and his name was also Philip. Like
the elder Philip, he too was commanded to
work in a desert — a place where to all appear
ance no bread could be found. Yet it was
found — in rich superabundance. In that
desert he met only one man whom he
could make a Christian ; but that one man
was the centre of a whole kingdom — the
bread was multiplied indefinitely. Now, I
have always believed that this second Philip
received his name at baptism in honour of the
first. I have always believed that he was one
of those Greeks who came to the Christian
apostle with the intention of seeing the Lord.
I have figured to myself the result of that
vision. I have seen this youth baptised in
to the new faith, and in the strength of
gratitude taking the name of his patron. I
have seen him go forth fired with the en
thusiasm of spreading that faith among his
countrymen. I have seen him, after the

180 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
death of Stephen, emerge as the champion
of these countrymen and claim their rights
in the Christian community. Then I have
seen his sympathies widen — go beyond
Greece, pass into Samaria, travel into Ethi
opia, move wherever the spirit prompted
him. If the life of such a man was the
fruit of the visit to the apostle Philip, the
ministry of that apostle was abundantly
blessed.

T ORD, often, like Philip, I have been
-* — ' underrating my surroundings. I have
been complaining of my prosaic sphere; I
have been saying, ' Whence shall I find bread
in this wilderness to feed the multitude of
men ! ' I have been looking for aid to an
opening in the heavens — to the descent of
powers supernal. It never occurred to me
that one loaf of bread could be multiplied
into a million. It never entered into my
mind that one man could be an army, one
life a kingdom, one soul a generation. But

PHILIP THE DISILLUSIONED 181
Thou hast taught me, O my Father. Thou
hast shown me the triumph of my trifles, the
majesty of my rejected moments. The hour
over which I wept is waving with banners.
The book over which I slept is surging with
songs. The fence over which I leapt is laden
with pearls. My fancied weed has become a
flower; my imagined prison has become a
bower ; my supposed weakness has become a
tower. Evermore let me reverence the prosaic
things ! Evermore let me uncover my head
to the place that seems a desert ! Let me
walk with solemnity beside the rill ! — it may
be a river one day. Let me tread with awe
the village street ! — it may be a city one day.
Let me stand with veneration before the
squalid child ! — he may be a Shakespeare
one day. Once, with proud foot I passed a
hovel by ; I was in search of great events,
and I lingered not. And lo ! I had passed
the great event of Thy world — the babe whose
swaddling bands were to enfold all nations !
The gold and the frankincense and the myrrh
were there, and the motherhood that taught

1 82 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Thy fatherhood, and the wisdom that had
found a new worship, and the star that had
lit a new hope ! When I am tempted to
despise the desert, let me remember, O Lord,
the majesty of the manger !

CHAPTER IX
MATTHEW THE EXALTED
There is nothing more striking in the
Christian Gallery than the variety in its
modes of redemption. Christ produces a
revolution in every soul with which He comes
into contact ; and yet in no two cases is the
revolution precisely the same. Human weak
ness is as varied in its forms as human
virtue ; therefore the cure of human weakness
must be also varied. In the figures which
have already passed before us we must have
been struck beyond everything with the
absence of uniformity in their disease and its
treatment. We have not found any two of
them alike in the symptoms which needed to
be healed. There is no analogy between the
original defect of John the Baptist and the
original defect of John the Evangelist ; the

1 84 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
one is the narrowness of personal zeal, the
other the narrowness of personal pride. There
is no resemblance between the imperfect
views of Nathanael and the imperfect views
of Nicodemus ; the former come from rustic
simplicity, the latter from scholarly culture.
There is no parallel between the cloud in
the mind of Peter and the cloud in the
mind of Thomas ; the one comes from want
of courage, the other purely from want of
hope. I am now approaching a figure of the group
w'hose prominent feature is just the fact of
his redemption — Matthew the Publican. Our
first impression is that we must expect to
find this man without any special weakness,
but encrusted with a mass of sin all over. We
can put our hand upon the error which
signalised the Baptist. We can point to the
fault which distinguished the evangelist John.
We can indicate the weakness which marred
the progress of Peter. We can tell the beset
ting frailties which lent struggle to the lives of
Philip and Thomas and Nicodemus. But if we

MATTHEW THE EXALTED 185
were asked to specialise the fault of Matthew,
I think we should say, ' You might as well ask
me to specialise the fault of a quagmire ! ' We
look on this man, not as one with a besetting
sin, but as one who had sin for his very essence.
I went into a country church one day and
heard the character of Matthew expounded
as if his badness were a truism. He was
everything that was wicked — an extortioner,
a cheat, a defrauder, a liar, a man dishonest
in thought and word and deed. Here was a
character with no specially besetting sin. You
could not label him. You could label Peter
or John or Thomas, but not Matthew ; he was
a quagmire — he was pollution all round.
Now, let me say at once that this is not
the view I have taken of the matter. I think
Matthew was a man with a special defect — not
with pollution all over. The latter supposi
tion is negatived partly by the fact of his call
and mainly by his immediate response to that
call. It was a call, not to mere mercy, but
to the height of apostolic dignity. I could
understand a man like Judas becoming

1 86 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
depraved subsequent to ordination ; but I
cannot understand a man called to ordination
at a time when he was already depraved.
And if I am reminded how the heart can
conceal its vices, still less can I understand
how a heart with such vices could care for
such ordination — how a man of extortion, of
fraud, of covetousness, of avarice without
principle and greed without justice, could in
a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, give
up his entire world and join the ranks of
poverty. I have already said, in speaking of
the transition into a new life, that the actual
plunge is ever sudden ; but I have also said
that there is a long walk to the river-side.
A conversion like this would have been to
Matthew an experience of the plunge without
the walk.
And what is the evidence on which rests the
unqualified badness of Matthew? It is the
obloquy attached to his profession. The
preacher says : ' This man was a publican —
one of those who farmed the taxes for the
Roman government. Those who farmed the

MATTHEW THE EXALTED 187
taxes were selected from the lowest social
strata. They were originally poor, hungry,
ill-clad. The occupation, therefore, to which
they were chosen placed them in a sphere of
strong temptation. They had every induce
ment to be unjust, to overreach, to exact, to
falsify, to become the instruments for bribery
and corruption. And Matthew was one of
these. He was a member of this fraternity,
immersed in a trade which held out a prospect
of gain to the unscrupulous and offered a life
of comfort to him who did not resist the
tempter. Surely a record like his could have
only one issue ! '
The logic of this is deplorable. It is equiva
lent to saying that, if a man belongs to
a calling which involves a particular tempta
tion, he must be held guilty of having yielded
to that temptation. Consider for a moment.
There is no profession known to me which
does not involve its own special temptation.
The clerical calling tempts to narrowness, the
medical to materialism, the legal to the loss of
sentiment, the literary to a spirit of selfishness.

1 88 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Yet one of the broadest men I ever knew was
a sincerely orthodox cleric ; one of the most
assured Christians I ever knew was a leading
physician ; one of the most kindly sympa
thisers I ever knew was a legal practitioner;
one of the most sacrificing lives I ever knew
was a highly successful writer. We must pro
test against attributing to any man the special
sin of his calling. It is unfair ; it is negatived
by a thousand facts. There was nothing in
Roman tax-gathering which made vice in that
calling a necessary thing. In point of fact,
the vice came from the outside. The master-
publicans were men of rank and credit; but
they put their work into the hands of sub
ordinates who were often taken from the
slums. The vices these exhibited in their
profession were brought with1 them into their
profession ; they came from the previous
corruptions of human nature, and no trade
is chargeable with them. We cannot morally
label Matthew by calling him ' Matthew the
Publican.' The truth is, the obloquy with which

MATTHEW THE EXALTED 189
Matthew was regarded by his countrymen
did not proceed from the fear that he was
a bad man, but from the certainty that he was
a bad Jew. The most galling fact to the
Israel of later days was the fact that she paid
tribute to another land. Ideally, she claimed
to be the mistress of the world — the nation
into whose treasury all tribute should flow.
To the proud eye of the prophet Isaiah, she
had been the mountain established on the top
of the hills, and toward her height the other
lands had looked, wondering. That such a
nation should pay taxes to a foreign people, a
Gentile people, was an awful thought. It was
a pain worse than laceration, more cruel than
a blow. But there was the possibility of a
pain more poignant still. It was bad enough
that the tribute of homage from Israel should
be collected by a Roman. But what if the
man who gathered it should be a son of Israel
herself — a scion of her race, an heir to her
promises, a nursling of her prophets ! What if
the man who taunted her with her misfortunes
should be one born within her pale, bred

190 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
within her precincts, sheltered within her
privileges — one from whom was due the ven
eration for her sanctuary and the reverence for
her God ! Would it not seem to her as if all her
calamities had culminated and as if the cloud of
her sorrow had deepened into starless night !
Now, this often happened ; and it happened
in the case of Matthew. Here was a Jew who
had lost the last shred of patriotism ! He had
forgotten the traditions of his ancestors — for
gotten the parted waters of the Red Sea, and
the burning bush, and the pillars of cloud and
fire ! He had become oblivious that he was
the son of a race which claimed the ultimate
dominion over all the world ! He had not
only accepted without a blush the domination
by the stranger ; he had taken part with the
stranger in his domination ! He had attached
himself to the enemies of his country — had
become a collector of their tribute from his
own conquered land ! This was hard upon
that land. The man who acted thus was
bound to be execrated by his race. He was
execrated on that ground alone. No amount

MATTHEW THE EXALTED 191
of personal vices would in the eyes of his
countrymen have added to the enormity of his
sin, and no amount of personal virtues would
in the slightest degree have minimised that
sin. His deed was itself to them the acme
of all iniquity, from which nothing could
detract and which nothing could intensify.
The blackness of Matthew's character in the
eyes of the Jew was the fact of his apostasy.
But the question is, What is its blackness
in our eyes ? We sympathise much with the
feeling of his countrymen ; yet, after all, that
is a local matter, and the question should be
viewed apart from local considerations. We
must ask ourselves, Where lay the precise
fault in this absence of patriotism ? When
we have answered that, we shall have found
the real weak point in the character of
Matthew — the point which made him an
object for Christ's compassion, and the point
which suggested Christ's mode of cure.
It is quite evident to me that a defect in
Jewish patriotism always proceeded from one
definite defect in character — a want of self-

i92 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
respect. I do not say that every man who
has lost his patriotism has lost his self-respect,
for every man's country is not meant to be
identical with his own soul. But the Jew's
was. I have already said in speaking of
Nicodemus that in the Jewish community the
nation and the individual were one. A man's
loves and fears were for his native land. His
land was a part of himself— the largest part ;
its preservation was his main motive for living.
A Jew could only forget his country by ceas
ing to care for himself — by losing self-respect.
All in him that was personal was national —
his feasts, his sacrifices, his family, his hopes,
his sins, his sorrows, his very aspirings after
immortality. To destroy within his heart the
care for his country was to destroy within his
heart all care for anything.
Here, then, is the real source of Matthew's
want of patriotism ; it is want of self-respect.
His defect is the extreme opposite of that
which we found in the original nature of the
evangelist John. John, as I have indicated,
had too big a mirror; Matthew had no

MATTHEW THE EXALTED 193
mirror at all. John saw his youthful figure
at an exaggerated height ; Matthew beheld
no reflection of himself whatever. John re
quired to have his glass smashed ; Matthew
needed to have a glass constructed. John
had too much pride ; Matthew had too little.
It would be difficult to say which of the
extremes is the more fraught with danger
— the excess of self-respect or the absence
of self-respect. Too steadfast a gaze at
self has slain its thousands; but it may be
doubted if the failure to see one's self has
not produced as many victims. Pride is a
positive state ; want of self-respect is a nega
tive state. But I think the mind suffers as
much by its moments of negation as by its
moments of positive evil. The heart filled
with personal vanity is not safe; but the
heart unfilled by any personal interest is no
safer. There are in my opinion as many young
men led astray by the want of a looking-glass
as by the over-prominence of a looking-glass.
It is a dangerous thing when we express a
real truth by the words, ' I do not care.'
N

i94 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
I have said that the want of self-respect
is in itself a negative quality. I wish to
emphasise the point, because it is often mis
taken for things from which it is quite different.
For instance, we associate this quality with
meanness. Yet the mean man is never with
out his mirror. He errs, not by want of
self-respect, but by a low ideal of what in
the self is respectable. He sees himself in
the glass adorned in purple and fine linen
and faring sumptuously every day. He says,
' This is " to live," this is " to prosper," this
is " to be respected " ! ' Then follows the
conclusion, 'This is the only thing worth
striving for ; let me work for nothing else,
aim at nothing else, dream of nothing else ;
let me seek wealth at all times and by all
means ! '
Will any man say that such a soul is in
want of a mirror! Does its meanness not
come from its mirror — from the sight of a
false ideal of what it is to be great ! Such a
soul has reached its dishonesties, its frauds,
its extortions, its unjust dealings, by nothing

MATTHEW THE EXALTED 195
else than a mode of self-contemplation — by
gazing into a glass which paints the little as
if it were the grand. If Matthew had lost his
Jewish patriotism, he was not that man, for
he who lost his Jewish patriotism lost his
glass too, and had no longer an aim in life
either high or low.
Again. We often associate want of self-
respect with abjectness. By abjectness I
mean one's feeling that he is a poor creature
— that he is a worm and no man. And yet
this condition is also incompatible with the
loss of the mirror. It is itself a looking into
the glass. It is by the reflection in that glass
I come to the conclusion that I am a poor
creature. The word 'self-respect' literally
means self-regarding, self-beholding. In the
case of the crushed or abject man, he beholds
himself as an object of compassion, as a thing
worthy to win pity, as one who deserved a
better fate. The man who has lost his mirror
cannot be an abject man. That would be a
contradiction in terms ; he would have no
shadow of himself to look at, and so could

196 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
not grieve over it. Matthew was not an
abject man. Not even after his call does he
sit in sackcloth and ashes over the memory
of his past. On the contrary, he makes a
great feast in his own house and invites his
fellow-publicans. The act could never have
proceeded from one beholding his natural face
in a glass.
What, then, is the bane of having no mirror?
It is being down without knowing it. It is
the living by the day — without a plan, without
a principle. It is a vegetable life. It is the
absence of all desire to look forward to any
thing, to look backward to anything, to look
upward to anything. It is the enclosure
within the moment. It is the experience of
a state of mind which may not always be
doing harm, but which is never doing good.
It may keep the precepts, ' Thou shalt not
kill,' ' Thou shalt not steal,' ' Thou shalt not
bear false witness ' ; but it will have no
impulse to seek and to save, no bosom on
which to lay the burdens of humanity.
What, therefore, did Matthew need ? It was

MATTHEW THE EXALTED 197
a mirror — a sense of exaltation. It is not
enough that a man has no depression ; he
must have exaltation. I will go further. I
think that in spiritual matters the valley is
nearer to the mountain than is the plain. I
believe that a life of conscious depression will
sooner reach the sense of a height than a life
of commonplace prosaic routine which looks
neither up nor down. Matthew was a man
of the plain. He was not, like Thomas, a
man of the valley. Thomas had depression,
in other words, he saw himself in a glass
and pitied himself. But Matthew had no de
pression. His was not a valley experience.
He lived on level ground without depths or
heights. He never saw himself— he had no
mirror. To have a mirror you must be either
on the mountain or in the vale; Matthew's
was as yet a plant's life. Jesus said, ' I must
give this man a sight of his higher self, of
his possible self.' He felt that what Matthew
needed was a stimulus — something to lift him
up. There were those to whom He came
with a cross — those who, like the woman of

198 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Samaria, had to be wakened to their own
shame. But to this man He came with a
crown. What Matthew needed to feel was
his own importance. Let him be lifted up
to the mountain — suddenly, drastically, un
expectedly. Let him get a sight of his future
self, what he is coming to, what is coming to
him. Let him see himself as God meant him
to be — a man of dignity, a man of power.
That was what Jesus did to Matthew the
Publican. He came without warning, without
preparation. He stood before him at the re
ceipt of custom. He ignored all the crowd
assembled there. He fixed His gaze upon
him alone — apart from his fellows, apart from
the yielders of his tribute. He addressed
him without preamble, without title — as if He
were summing up a long process of reason
ing ; He said, bluntly and boldly, ' Follow
Me!' For the first time in his life Matthew found
himself a man — a man of importance, a man
of mark. He awoke to find himself famous
— an object of interest, a centre of attraction.

MATTHEW THE EXALTED 199
He had the novel experience of standing with
a mirror in his hand looking at his own
person. So novel was the experience that it
carried him away. Surprise overmastered him.
That Christ should choose him — the cipher,
the nobody, the man who had forfeited his
right to call himself a son of Israel — this
was a startling thing. That he, who had never
been dignified enough to care what the world
might think of him, should be suddenly called
to stand before the world as an example, was
a thought almost weird in its strangeness.
The newness of the sensation quite conquered
him. ' Follow Me ! ' said the voice ; and he
lingered not a moment. He did not wait for
enlightenment ; he had got the one light whose
absence had made him ignoble — self-respect.
His exodus came with his exaltation. The
instant he said, ' I am somebody,' he rose and
left Egypt. He went out from the receipt
of custom and passed over into the Christian
land. Like Israel, he made his 'passover' a
subject of congratulation. Our last glimpse
of him but one is at that banquet which he

200 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
spread as a farewell to the old and an in
auguration of the new.
But there is one glimpse more, and it is
to me the most suggestive of all. The next
time we see Matthew he has a pen in his
hand ; he is writing a gospel. Volumes have
been multiplied on that gospel. Discussions
have been reiterated as to the source of its
materials and the origin of its information.
Commentaries have been accumulated ex
hausting every possible meaning of his words
and embodying every thought involved in his
teaching. It would seem as if the subject
were at last threadbare. And yet there is
one fact about this gospel which, so far as I
know, has never been spoken — its connection
with Matthew's call. We are in the habit of
regarding it as a purely impersonal piece of
writing — without any note of autobiography
or incidental emergence of the author's memory.
The truth, as I believe, is that the very central
idea of the book is itself a note of autobio
graphy. What is that central idea? It is the
spirit of patriotism. The Gospel of Matthew

MATTHEW THE EXALTED 201
is the most patriotic of all the gospels. His
Christ is the Christ of Israel — born king of
the Jews. All that He does is made to echo
the glories of Matthew's native land. Every
thing about Him is the flowering of Israel's
prophecies, is done ' that it might be fulfilled
which was spoken.' The glory of Messiah is
that He has glorified this favoured nation —
proved that she was right in her aspirations
and in her dreams. This patriotism of the
First Gospel is of course known to every school
boy. But have we considered what it means in
relation to the character of Matthew himself?
Nothing less than a moral revolution. This
man's defect had all along been a want of
patriotism. He had ignored the claims of his
country, he had disregarded the ties of his
people. But, when for the last time our eyes
rest upon him, he is a man transformed. He
has become rich just where he was poor, over
flowing just where he was deficient. He is
a patriot of the patriots. His country which
yesterday was nothing is to-day all in all. He
has put on the arms of his race — is prepared

202 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
to fight for it, to die for it. He has declared
himself a son of Israel and is ready to lavish
on her all his praise.
And I think there is something very grand
and very beautiful in this final glimpse which
we receive of Matthew the Publican. It is
our glimpse of one who has got back his self-
respect and longs to atone. He has been for
years denuding his country of her due. He now
says, ' I must make it up to her at last, though
late ; I must compensate her for the gifts I
have withheld ! ' I say there is something fine
in this man's light at evening-time. Though
it is evening, though the day is far spent,
though many golden hours and golden oppor
tunities have been lost, he will not despair of
undoing his past. He will concentrate into
the evening sky what he should have spread
over the whole day. He will bestow his gifts
in double measure. He will assign to his
native land a glory which he could not, even
if he would, have given in his morning hours.
For now the Christ has come — Judah has re
ceived her latest flower. He can tell her of

MATTHEW THE EXALTED 203
that flower, can tell her of her share in its produc
tion. He can tell her how she has been justi
fied, glorified, raised out of the category of vain
dreamers and proclaimed to be a nation which
has a star in heaven. That is why Matthew in
the evening writes his life of Jesus.
T ORD, teach me the dignity of my own
J — ' soul ! Many have warned me of the
pride of life ; and it is evil and harmful indeed.
But I think an equal danger has come from
my hours of recklessness. I think I have
never been further from Thee than in the
moment when I have said, ' Life is a worth
less thing ! ' Whenever I go out without my
mirror I am very near temptation. When I say
in my heart, ' It will be all the same a hundred
years hence,' I am perilously close to the preci
pice. In that moment I have broken my
mirror — have lost sight of life's magnitude,
life's value. When I lose the sight of life's
value, I begin to value lower things ; when I
break my mirror, I look into the muddy pool.
My Father, I think it is for idle hearts that

204 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Satan finds mischief. Save me from an idle
heart — a heart that has nothing to love! If
my heart has its mirror, yea, even its mirror
of care, I shall not touch the miry clay. All
idleness is the heart's idleness — the heart ceas
ing to vibrate. Though my hands be folded,
though my lips be silent, though my feet be
resting, though my fancy be reposing, yet, if
my heart be carrying its mirror, I am not idle.
Keep that glass undimmed, O my Father!
Whatever else I lose, let me never lose my love
— the sense that life holds something dear !
Let no cloud curtain it ! Let no storm sink
it ! Let no waters wash it away ! May every
beam brighten it ! May every hope hallow
it ! May every fear freshen it ! May every
dream deepen it ! May every cross crown it !
May every rock rivet it ! May every struggle
strengthen it ! May every providence purify
it ! May it be my star in night, my song in
stillness, my flower in winter, my rainbow in
tears, my help in sorrow, my home in exile,
my youth in autumn, my island in the sea!
Never let my heart drop the mirror of its glory!

CHAPTER X
ZACCHEUS THE CONSCIOUS-STRUCK
The name of Zaccheus occupies only a few
verses of St. Luke's Gospel. It does not occur
in any other Gospel, and throughout the Scrip
tures it is never mentioned again. But a
man's place in the Gallery is by no means
determined by his prominence in the Record.
What decides a man's place in the Gallery is
his uniqueness. Is there anything in his face
or figure which separates him from all the
surrounding portraits ? If there is, then, how
ever seldom he may be alluded to, he is
entitled to a prominent position in the Scrip
ture Gallery ; if there is not, then, however
frequent be the recurrence of his name, he has
no right to a distinctive place. The question
is, Has Zaccheus anything new to say — any
thing that has not been said by Peter or John
205

206 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
or Philip or Thomas or Nathanael ? Is the
phase of Christianity which he expresses dif
ferent from the phases which have been pre
viously expressed ? Does he stand for a class
which has not been already accounted for;
does he represent a section of mankind who
have as yet received no spokesman ? Then is
he amply entitled to occupy a front ground in
that great collection of portraits which has
conveyed to all times the separate phases of
the Christian life.
And I say that Zaccheus is such a man.
He flashes out a new shade of colour in the
Great Gallery. He is not exactly like any
of his predecessors. The nearest approach to
him is Matthew — both were publicans. Yet,
unlike Matthew, Zaccheus was not an object
of personal recrimination to his countrymen.
He was not, as Matthew was, a subordinate who
collected the taxes. He was a master-publican
— a rich man living in Jericho who simply
estimated the revenues and reported them to
the government. The fruits of his conversion
no doubt resembled those brought forth by

ZACCHEUS THE CONSCIOUS-STRUCK 207
Matthew, and this is easily explained by the
identity of their professions. But the men
originally were very different. Matthew was
a man with no interest in life ; Zaccheus is
essentially the reverse — a man of curiosity.
Matthew had slow pulses; the heart of Zaccheus
beat rapidly. Matthew needed to be called;
Zaccheus took the initiative. Matthew re-
'quired stirring up ; Zaccheus would run a race
or climb a tree in the eagerness to secure his
object. If I were asked to state in a sentence what
Zaccheus represents, I should say he stands
for the average man wakened by conscience.
Hitherto in this Gallery we have not seen the
average man. We have seen men whose like
ness will be found in every age and clime;
but that does not make one an average man.
Peculiarities may be reproduced in every age
and clime; but they will not be reproduced
over the whole mass. Peter is not an average
man ; he is the specimen of a type of mind.
John is not an average man ; he is the repre
sentative of a class. Nathanael and Nico-

208 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
demus and Thomas and Philip are not average
men ; they stand for particular phases of
human nature. But Zaccheus belongs to the
majority. There is nothing peculiar about
him, nothing marked, nothing uncommon. His
special feature is his want of specialty ; it is
a feature which we have never met before,
and which in the remaining figures we shall
not meet again. Everything about his char
acter is middle-sized. Physically, he is of
short stature ; but mentally, he is neither
short nor tall. He is neither a paragon of
excellence nor a monster of wickedness. He
is not a hero and he is not a demon. He has
many good points, but they never blaze ; he
has many bad points, but they never freeze.
He is the average man. He is as virtuous as
his neighbours. He never transgresses use
and wont. He does nothing wrong in the way
of business for which he cannot quote a prece
dent. He may overleap the laws of rectitude;
but he would be miserable to be told that
he had violated the mercantile standard of
those around him. He lives up to his own

ZACCHEUS THE CONSCIOUS-STRUCK 209
measurement; but he measures himself by
the mass.
Such is my reading of the original char
acter of Zaccheus. He was a man who was
always standing before a judgment-throne
to give an account of what he had done; but
it was not the judgment- throne of Christ.
It was the throne of public opinion before
which he stood — the standard of those within
his immediate environment. When he trans
gressed that tribunal, his conscience troubled
him ; but the tribunal itself was a very inferior
one — his conscience ought to have demanded
more. What he needed was to have his con
science placed at the bar of a higher throne of
judgment. He required to see a loftier ideal,
to feel the presence of a more exacting law.
Our first impression is that a man of such a
comparatively correct life is favourable soil
for the planting of Christian seed. It appears
easier to convert him than one who is down in
the depths. But I think this impression is
erroneous. There is none so difficult to move
upward as the average man — none whom it is
O

210 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
so hard to quicken into a Christian conscience.
And the reason is that the man has a con
science already of a very keen though very
inferior stamp. The tribunal of public opinion
blunts him to every other tribunal. He is
lulled into complacency. The judgment-throne
is low-set, but it is the highest he has known,
and it has been his standard through life. He
has always reverenced the average — the golden
mean. Christianity makes its appeal to some
thing abnormal — to those who feel as if they
were below the average, as if they were the
chief of sinners, as if they could only beat
upon their breast and cry, ' Unclean ! ' The
man who lives in Jericho and is content with
the consciousness that he is up to the average
life of Jericho has a natural disqualification
for meeting Christ — the disqualification of
those who think they have already attained.
What enabled Zaccheus to surmount this
natural barrier? Strange to say, it was the
fact that his religious deficiency was counter
balanced by a purely secular impulse — the
spirit of curiosity. The picture as delineated

ZACCHEUS THE CONSCIOUS-STRUCK 211
in the Gallery is graphic. Jesus is coming to
Jericho, and Jericho is on fire with expecta
tion. His fame has gone before Him. Crowds
have gathered in the streets to await His
arrival — anxious inquirers about the health
*>f body or soul. Zaccheus is anxious neither
about body nor soul ; but he is eager to see.
If he has any concern, it is about his physical
limitations. How shall a small man like him
be able to procure a sight of Jesus with such
a dense phalanx in front of him ! An idea
strikes him. He feels sure that Jesus will not
address the people while they are in the streets
— He will advance into the open and let the
multitude follow Him. Little Zaccheus will
get ahead of them. He will run before into
the woodlands and climb up to the branch of
a tree, where his small stature will be com
pensated by artificial height and he will see
over the heads of taller men.
Now, I venture to say that in all the Gospel
narrative this is a unique approach to the
person of Christ. All the others were either
answers to His own invitation or advances of

212 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
the sufferer impelled by human pain. Here
is a man who has not been called and who
has not been afflicted. He has neither been
summoned from the receipt of custom like
Matthew nor driven by the burden of sorrow
like Jairus. He has no ailment about him,
no depression about him. He is alive with
the spirit of youth, and he is brought by an
impulse which is the very index of the youth
ful spirit — curiosity. Unique as it is in the
Gospel, it is ever the approach of the average
man towards every great and good thing. It
is the child's attraction to school, the boy's
attraction to knowledge, the youth's attraction
to travel, the man's attraction to nature.
Announce a descriptive lecture on Palestine
illustrated by the magic-lantern, and the
young people will come in crowds. They
will not be drawn by the promised descrip
tion nor even by the promised illustration of
it — an interest in Palestine requires mental
development. They will be attracted by the
magic-lantern itself; the scenes depicted will
be interesting not as scenes of Palestine, but

ZACCHEUS THE CONSCIOUS-STRUCK 213
as feats of pictorial transformation. Yet, who
does not see that in the future the memory of
these things will become grapes of Eshcol.
What is now a mere source of curiosity will
come to the mature mind as a hallowed re
membrance clothing in form and colour those
spots of sacred story which would otherwise
convey nothing but a name.
Zaccheus came to the temple of Christian
truth as the average man is led to all truth —
on the wings of curiosity. His was apparently
the lowest motive in all that crowd. Yet he
is singled out as if he were the hero of the
crowd. To him, sitting in his sycamore tree,
the voice of Jesus cries, ' Make haste, Zaccheus,
and come down, for to-day I must abide at
thy house.' The favour is so great, and the
privilege so well-nigh unparalleled, that we
are tempted to ask if we have not underrated
the spirit of curiosity. Surely the Master
must have seen in this man's motive some
thing more than we see — something which
placed him on a higher level than those who
had come to be cured of bodily maladies !

2i4 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Can it be that there is after all a mental
element in curiosity — an element which is in
dicative of the character and predictive of the
life ! Let us see.
There is to my mind a great resemblance
between the spirit of curiosity and the spirit
of prayer. Neither of them is in itself either
good or bad ; it depends on what you are
curious about, it depends on what you are
in want of. Prayer may be of three kinds —
immoral, non-moral, or moral. If I ask for
vengeance on an enemy, that is immoral
prayer. If I ask for a chariot and horses, that
is non-moral prayer — it is neither saintly nor
sinful, but purely secular. If I ask to be
made holy, harmless, and undefiled, that is
moral prayer — it is a sign of incipient purity.
So, also, there are three kinds of curiosity —
immoral, non-moral, and moral. If I am
eager to see a bull-fight, that is immoral
curiosity — it is a wish to view pain. If I am
eager to see a man who professes to lift heavy
weights, that is non-moral curiosity — it is
neither good nor bad. If I am eager to hear

ZACCHEUS THE CONSCIOUS-STRUCK 215
a great preacher who has for months been
attracting crowds around him, then, even
though it may be accompanied by no anxiety
about my spiritual state, that is moral curiosity
— it indicates a listening attitude in the human
soul and the presence of an open door.
I do not wonder, then, that Zaccheus was
singled out from the multitude. His body
was on a sycamore tree and was therefore
easily distinguishable. But his soul was also
on a sycamore tree — raised above the crowd.
His very physical elevation, separating him
as it did from outward contact with Jesus,
showed that he wanted nothing physical — that
his motive was curiosity of mind. I do not
wonder that this approach, prayerless as it
was, impersonal as it was, unsolicitous as it
was, made an impression on Jesus beyond the
common cries for bread and sustenance. It
was like the impression made on Him by
Thomas. But Thomas came with low hope
— if he asked nothing it was because he ex
pected nothing. Zaccheus had the spirit of
youth ; his hopes were high ; only, they were

216 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
mental hopes. He swung up his little body
beyond the reach of temporal help ; but he
bent the eye of his soul upon the vision of
Jesus. What he wanted to see was a spiritual
glory, and Christ rated the man according to
his desire. He picked him out from the mass
and said, ' I must abide at thy house to-day.'
I wish here to direct attention to a frequent
peculiarity in the method of Jesus. When
He is about to confer a favour on any one,
He often begins by asking a favour from him.
However dimly Zaccheus is aware of his
mental need, Jesus knows it very well and is
prepared to remedy it. Yet, instead of telling
him that he is a poor creature requiring Divine
aid, He asks aid from him. He says, ' I
require shelter to-night ; no house will be so
convenient for me as yours ; can you give me
room ? ' We see the same thing in the case
of the woman of Samaria, where He begins
by asking a drink of water. We see it in
the case of Magdalene, where He allows her
service to precede His cure. We see it in
His acceptance of the invitation to abide at

ZACCHEUS THE CONSCIOUS-STRUCK 217
Emmaus. We see it in His receiving of
hospitality at many a feast. We see it in His
submission to the outpouring on His person
of the costliest ointment, and in His willing
ness to partake of material comforts from the
hands of the women of Galilee.
These facts are not accidental. They are
a part of the deep moral insight of Jesus.
What is the relation which He wishes to estab
lish between Himself and His followers? It
is one of communion. Now, communion
cannot be on one side. It is not possible that
such a relation can exist between any two
minds if the one is active and the other pas
sive. There is nothing so paralysing as the
perpetual receiving of benefits. Even in a
case of forgiveness the delinquent should be
allowed to do something for his pardoner. If
I have offended you, there is a breach between
us ; and that breach is not healed by the mere
fact that you forgive me. Even after the for
giveness, I am still in the valley and you on
the mount. It is not enough that you descend
to me; I must be allowed to meet you half-

218 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
way. Pardon is not reconciliation. In one
sense it is the reverse of reconciliation, for it
emphasises the difference between your height
and my depth. Reconciliation seeks to abolish
that difference. It aims to break inequality,
to restore communion. It cannot restore com
munion while the sacrifice is all on one side.
I who am pardoned must be suffered to do
something for you the pardoner. It is not
enough that you bring forth the best robe and
put it on me; I must be allowed to give a
garment to you. Christ is coming to pardon
Zaccheus ; but He does not want this pardon
to leave Zaccheus in the valley. He desires
him to have a memory that he too was the
bestower of a gift, that he was able to extend
a courtesy in return for favours received.
And so, with a fine touch of gracefulness, He
makes it appear as if the favour were to Him.
He asks hospitality, shelter, companionship
for the day. As He had begged the Samaritan
for a draught from the well, He begs Zaccheus
to make Him a guest for the hour; and in
both cases for the same reason — that the mind,

ZACCHEUS THE CONSCIOUS-STRUCK 219
before its vision, may have a sense of inde
pendent dignity.
Jesus, then, became for one day the guest
of Zaccheus ; and at the evening-time there
dawned for him a great light. It was a light
which rose upon his conscience. He stood
before a new judgment-seat ; and there sat on
it 'one like unto a son of man.' Hitherto,
the arbiter of his conscience had been public
opinion. Suddenly public opinion became
valueless. All the social magnets fled from
his throne, and in their place there stood one
solitary figure wielding the sceptre over his
heart and giving the law to his life. In the
morning he had said, ' How will society regard
me ? ' in the evening his question is, ' What
will Jesus say ? ' In the morning he was com
forted by the low standard of a multitude ; in
the evening he is ruffled by the lofty standard
of One. In the morning he was self-com
placent by viewing the numbers on his own
road ; in the evening he is perturbed by the
sight of a single individual on the summit of
a commanding hill.

220 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Yet, there is something startling about this
revival in the conscience of Zaccheus. It is
not exactly what we should expect. We
expect to see an awakened man bow his head
and cry, ' Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner ! '
Zaccheus feels himself to be in moral debt ;
but, strange to say, it is to man. He has two
cries of remorse ; but they are both for the
human. He feels he has done too little good,
and he feels he has done too much bad. He
wants to remedy both — the one by charity and
the other by compensation, ' The half of my
goods I give to the poor, and if I have taken
any thing from any man by false accusation,
I restore him fourfold.' We hear the same
double cry from the lips of Matthew ; he makes
a feast to express his charity, and he writes
a Gospel to redeem his want of patriotism.
But the strange thing is that these men should
not have first wished to put themselves right
with God. When David kills Uriah, he takes
a theological view of the matter, and cries,
in the psalm traditionally attributed to him,
' Against Thee, Thee only, have I sinned, and

ZACCHEUS THE CONSCIOUS-STRUCK 221
done this evil in Thy sight.' Why should
Zaccheus take a human view of the matter !
Why should he allow the injury to his fellow-
creatures to obscure his sense of an offended
Lawgiver ! Why should he look with dismay
on what he has failed to do and what he has
done amiss for humanity when there is another
and a graver subject which should press upon
his thoughts — his violation of the statutes of
heaven, his breaking of the commandments of
God! But look deeper. Do you suppose Zaccheus
thought this ' another subject ' ! Do you think
that when he lamented his shortcomings to
wards his fellow-men he regarded himself in
any other light than as a transgressor of
Divine law ! Remember into what he had
been baptised that day ! He had accepted a
new definition of God — had said, ' God is love.'
What did that mean ? It meant that for him
in all time to come the law of God was broken
when the rights of man were violated. It
meant that to outrage the justice of God was
to trample on the heart of his brothers. It

222 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
meant that to leave poverty unassisted, to pass
privation unpitied, to turn aside from the
sight of struggle and pain, was to commit
sacrilege against the Divine mercy-seat, to
stain the steps of the altar of sacrifice. It
meant that, if Zaccheus were conscious of an
unpaid debt to man, it was really the con
sciousness of an unpaid debt to God, and that
the road to atonement with God was through
the rehabilitation of man. That was the new
view which burst upon the soul of this man of
Jericho. It was a view which embodied the
whole doctrine of the coming Calvary. It
taught that the way to reconciliation with the
Father is to lay down life for the brethren, and
that to atone for past sin is to bear the cross
of humanity. It was really an annulling of
the distinction between the secular and the
sacred. To the eye of Zaccheus all duties
became church duties. His receipt of custom
became a Divine service to be piously per
formed. The exchange took the sanctity of a
temple. The gifts bestowed upon the widow
and the orphan were treasures lent to the

ZACCHEUS THE CONSCIOUS-STRUCK 223
Lord. The coin laid on the lap of poverty
was a holy offering to heaven. The raising of
a life from secular want and temporal despair
was the building of a new synagogue which
one day might be fit for the habitation of the
King of kings.
And this union of the secular and the sacred
within the heart of Zaccheus explains some
thing which separates his call from most other
Gospel calls — which gives it an aspect more
consonant with modern than with ancient life.
When Christ summoned men to join His
standard, the obedience to the summons com
monly involved a change of occupation. ' We
have left all, and followed Thee ' is the cry of
the disciples. The fishermen of Galilee were
transformed into fishers of human souls ; Peter,
Andrew, James, John, Philip, forsook their
nets when they became members of the league
of pity. Matthew himself, whose case is the
most analogous to that of Zaccheus, is called
out of his profession ; he leaves the business
of tax-gathering when he follows Jesus. But
Zaccheus gets no such command. The change

224 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
wrought in him is all within. He is not told
to give up his trade, to abandon his daily
resorts, to quit the exchange and the market
place. He is not led to think that the em
ployment he has been pursuing is common
or unclean. Rather does there flash upon him
the knowledge that he has been polluting that
which is holy, staining that which is sacred,
soiling that which is Divine. There breaks
upon him the conviction that to be a good
man he needs not the wings of a dove to fly
away — that he may stand here and be holy,
work here and be pure, toil amid the perishable
things of time and yet perform the deeds of
a saint of the Most High. I think there is
something very fine in the fact that, amid the
many Gospel pictures of men leaving the old
world to win the new, there is one which
depicts a human soul in a different attitude —
as impregnating with its own purity the things
among which all along it has lived and moved
and had its being.

ZACCHEUS THE CONSCIOUS-STRUCK 225
A BIDE in my house one day, O Son of
-^*- Man ! A voice has sung in Thy praise,
' I triumph still if Thou abide with me.' Yet
it is not for the triumph I need Thine abiding ;
it is rather for the overshadowing of my too-
triumphant self. I am ever triumphant in
myself when Thou art not with me. I am like
the artist that has never seen a picture but
his own. He is very proud of his own, for
he has no artistic conscience to see its
blemishes. He will never be great till he sees
its blemishes — till one of the master-painters
come and ' abide ' with him. I too am without
conscience till Thy coming. I cannot see my
spots till the sun rise. It is not my blemishes
which drive me to Thy light; it is Thy light
which drives me to my blemishes. Never can
I learn the poverty of my own painting until
Thy portrait is hung upon my wall. Then my
true conscience will be born ; then shall I
realise my own nothingness. From Thy light
shall come my loathing ; from Thy beauty
shall come my burden ; from Thy song shall
come my sigh. I shall be dissatisfied in the
P

226 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
dawn. I shall be humbled bn the height. I
shall be convicted when I put on the crown.
Rise upon my night that I may know my
night ! Sing in my silence that I may search
my silence ! Shine in my heart that I may
hate my heart ! Flood me with Thy love that
I may learn my lovelessness ! Touch me with
Thy peace that I may perceive my pain !
Take me up to the mount, O Lord, take me
up to the mount ! for only in Thy pure air
shall I find my foulness, and only in an upper
room shall I discover the depth below. I shall
cease to triumph in myself if Thou shalt ' abide
with me.'

CHAPTER XI
JAMES THE SOFTENED
ALL the figures we have been considering
have been men of the spring. What I mean
is that they recognised a power in Christ the
moment He was presented to them. They
may have erred as to where that power lay —
Nicodemus may have seen it too much in the
physical, Thomas too little ; but a power of
some kind they all at once recognised. We
are coming now, however, to a figure which
reveals an exception to the rule ; it is that of
James the Lord's brother. I would call him
distinctively the man of the autumn. It is
not that in point of time he was late in
becoming a Christian — in years he was young
when he joined the cause of Christ. But he
was old in experience. He had resisted the
Christian influence longer than any of his
227

228 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
apostolic contemporaries. And the fact is
more remarkable because outwardly he was
more privileged than any of these. He was
a member of Christ's own family — probably
an inmate of His home at Nazareth. He is
called ' the Lord's brother.' What that means
I shall not here discuss. Whether he was a
cousin of Jesus, whether he was the child of
Joseph by a former marriage, or whether he
was a son of Mary subsequent to the birth at
Bethlehem, has been keenly disputed. Per
sonally, I lean to the last view. But the point
here is that, whichever view we take, this man
had outward opportunities of contact with
Jesus such as were not enjoyed by any of his
comrades. In spite of that, he seems at first
to have been as great an unbeliever as Saul
of Tarsus. There has always been to me a
deep significance in that saying of St. John
that the followers of Christ were 'not born
of blood.' He must have had in his mind the
fact that physical consanguinity had been
proved in the case of Jesus to be no advantage
to a man — that one could have family affinity

JAMES THE SOFTENED 229
with Him, live in the same house with Him,
sit at the same board with Him, engage in
the same work with Him, listen to His con
versation on the most familiar topics of every
day, and yet be further away from Him than
a Matthew at the receipt of custom or a
Nicodemus in the midst of the Sanhedrin.
You will remember also that this slowness
to accept Christianity was not the result of
religious indifference. It would not be too
much to say that it was the result of religious
intensity. There never was a young man
more naturally devout than James the Lord's
brother. His misfortune was that devoutness
was to him identical with severity. It was
essential to him that religion should be a hard
thing, a painful and laborious thing. That a
man should be raised into the Divine life^
instantaneously was for him a contradiction
in terms. That the soul by a single act of
faith should soar into the presence of God was
in his view impossible. He was opposed to
revival movements because they were rapid
movements ; he thought Jesus was ' beside

230 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Himself.'1 His idea of piety was to spend
whole hours in the wrestling of prayer ; tradi
tion says that his knees had become hard by
the process. God was to him a Goal whose
glory consisted in not being easily won — this
was the belief of his countrymen, the faith of
his fathers. James had by nature a mind
sternly conservative. Paul describes himself
as one who had learned to be content with
any circumstances he was placed in. James
went further ; he had learned to idolise the
circumstances he was placed in. He had
hardened himself against change. Even in
transformed years he delighted to think of
God as without 'variableness or the least
shadow of turning ' ; originally, he delighted
to think of himself so. He would have no
innovation, no new notions, no revolutions
in opinion ; religion was for him something
whose form was fixed once for all.
So far as I know, this state of mind continued
1 So I gather from the comparison of the twenty-first and
thirty-second verses of the third chapter of Mark. I regard
the ' brethren ' of the later verse as identical with the ' friends
of the former.

JAMES THE SOFTENED 231
with James all through the earthly ministry
of Jesus. His obduracy resisted the closest
personal contact with the Master — a contact
extending to the minutiae of the daily life.
But when the visible Christ was withdrawn,
when the shadows of Calvary had fallen and
the personal contact had become a thing of
the past, it was then that the revelation came.
Paul records that revelation in a brief sentence ;
he says of the departed Christ, ' He was seen
of James.' I think this vision of the departed
Christ was James's first clear seeing. To my
mind there is a strong analogy between his
experience and the experience of Paul. They
belonged to opposite schools ; yet I think
there is a greater resemblance between Paul
and James than between Paul and Luke,
Paul and Silas, or Paul and Timothy. Both
were reared in rigidness. Both were opposed
to Christianity. Both were men of the autumn
— bringing in their sheaves when the day had
begun to decline. Both recognised Christ's
glory only after He had passed away from
earth. Both, after their vision, began a new

232 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
regime and became the leaders of their respec
tive parties. There are no two men whose lives
present so many points of parallel.
But the one point of difference is in the
original privilege of James. Paul was not
brought up in the companionship of Jesus ;
in no personal sense had he ever known Christ
after the flesh. But James had ; his intercourse
had been of the closest. And in relation to his
autumn experience, this is the difficulty to be
accounted for. Paul recognised Christ when
ever he saw Him ; James saw Him daily with
out recognising Him. In this latter case the
question is, Why ? Why was it expedient for
this man that Christ should go away, why
had the night to come ere he could see Him ?
The man of Tarsus had no meeting on the
shores of Galilee ; James dwelt within the
very walls which sheltered the youth of Jesus.
Why is it that James was no nearer than
Paul to the earthly recognition of the Son of
Man? I think you will find that there are two
reasons — deeply rooted in human nature and

JAMES THE SOFTENED 233
applicable to all times. The first would sound
like a paradox if it were not verified by
experience. We all accept it as a truism
that the great distance of one being from
another is unfavourable to the revelation of
one being to another. But it is less frequently
considered that an extreme opposite case is
equally unfavourable. It is less frequently
considered that a very close proximity of two
beings, provided the proximity has never been
interrupted, is just as prejudicial to personal
knowledge as would be their existence in
separate lands. We are apt to think that
James had a special privilege and that Paul
had not. The truth is that neither had a
privilege. Each had a barrier interposed
between him and his Lord; but they were
opposite barriers — Paul was too far away,
James was too near.
That extreme nearness retards perception is
a matter of daily observation. It is just as
true of our perception of things as of our
perception of persons. One would suppose,
for example, that the habitual dwellers in a

234 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
scene of rare beauty would be peculiarly alive
to the attractions of physical nature. The
reverse is the case. These are of all people
the least responsive to the beautiful. If a
stranger comes in among them, he is trans
fixed, dazzled, by the splendour of the scene ;
but his enthusiasm rather surprises them.
We should suppose, again, that the constant
inhabitants of a city would know more about
that city than those coming into it from other
places. Yet it often happens that a traveller
learns more of a town in a week than many
of its population learn all through their lives.
We should suppose, once more, that those
living continuously in a salubrious atmosphere
would be free from all illness arising from
atmospheric causes. Yet this is not the case.
The unvaried presence of one climate is like
the unvaried application of a somnolent drug
— it loses its effect. A change of air will
eventually be found beneficial, even though
the new air be less balmy than the old. The
mind must co-operate with the body to pre
serve the health of man. It is not enough

JAMES THE SOFTENED 235
that an atmosphere is genial ; I must feel it
to be genial. It must enter into me not only
as a draught but as a joy. And if this joy
is to be felt, it must not be an unvaried
possession. It must be interrupted to be
known; it must be withdrawn to be appre
ciated ; it must be supplanted by a shadow to
be valued as a light.
Ascend from things to persons, and you will
find a manifestation of the same principle.
It is not the inmates of one house who are
the best judges of the personality of each
other. Even such an external matter as
physical growth is most easily detected, not
by a habitual inhabitant of the same dwell
ing, but by one who has returned after many
days. In order to examine my brother-man
it is essential that either he or I should stand
back. The nearness disqualifies for observa
tion. I knew a lady who had under her
charge one who was afflicted with a brain
affection. She was eager from time to time
that some test should be applied as to whether
the sufferer were mentally improving or de-

236 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
clining. But she was quite unable to apply
the test herself; the fact of living constantly
together made it impossible to distinguish
between minute shades of mental gradation.
What did she do under the circumstances?
She brought the sufferer periodically to one
who knew both of them, but who was living
in a totally different atmosphere. His com
parative distance placed him at an advantage ;
it enabled him to observe those indications
of mental change which were altogether in
discernible by a nearer spectator.
We arrive, then, at the conclusion that, for
acquiring a rapid knowledge of Christian
truth, to be the Lord's brother was a dis
advantage. The physical relationship was
itself fitted to make James a man of the
autumn. But I think there was a second
reason why the Christian life of James was
retarded rather than accelerated by his grow
ing up under the same roof with Jesus. I
allude to the fact that Christianity seems in
the beginning at variance with home duties.
It shares this reproach in common with all

JAMES THE SOFTENED 237
poetry. Christianity is a poetic system. It
professes to lift the heart into a higher and
fairer world. By the man of home duties
such professions are looked upon with dis
favour, and, the more true they are, they are
regarded with more disfavour. To have the
heart intent on a fairer world, whether in the
sphere of art or poetry or Christ, is deemed
by the prosaic mind a disqualification for the
things of home. Martha is always under
the impression that Mary is debarred from
helping her by the fact that she sits at the
feet of the Master and listens to the music
of another land !
Now remember, James was by nature a
prosaic man ; even grace did not make him
otherwise. Grace never changes the distinc
tive sound of an instrument. It does not
make the flute a violin or the trumpet a
harp ; what it does is to improve the quality
of each instrument. James remained to the
last a man of prosaic duty. His r61e was
that of a practical worker, and he played
that r61e to the end. But at the beginning

238 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
he thought that this role was incompatible
with high thinking — incompatible with poetic
flights or lofty musings or enrapturing visions.
He would have said that the man who takes
the spade in his hand should consider only the
environment of the spade and the hand — only
that soil which he is required to fructify, only
those sunbeams which he is able to utilise,
only such attributes of the wind and of the
rain as conduce to the growth of the garden.
But James lived to change his mind. How
do we know that? Because he has left us
a letter — one of the most remarkable epistles
in the New Testament, embodying the ripest
results of his Christian experience. And the
burden of that letter is a discovery which
James has made — a discovery which has
softened his whole nature. He has found
that prosaic work, home duty, humanitarian
service, so far from being at variance with
thoughts above the hour, is itself the legiti
mate fruit of these thoughts. ' I will show
you my faith by my works,' he cries — ' I will
let you see how much better my practical

JAMES THE SOFTENED 239
duties have been done since I entered into
the secret of Christ's pavilion and gazed upon
the vision of a brighter day.' James has here
struck upon a far-reaching principle — that the
common duties of to-day are best done by
the light of to-morrow. We see it even in
domestic service — which is God's simile for
His own service. The domestic servant has
to perform the duty of the hour ; but she
will do it best if she has a hope beyond the
hour. Has she the chance of a holiday. Has
she the prospect of promotion. Has she the
promise of an increased emolument. Has she
news of some dear one coming home. Then,
even though she be jaded and languid and
weary, whatever her province may be it will
be well fulfilled — the rooms will be well swept,
the silver will be well polished, the table will
be well attended, the meal will be well pre
pared. Not one of us can, in moments ol
fatigue and lassitude, do our work adequately
if we see nothing beyond the hour.
If you look at the letter of James in this
light, I think there will flash upon it a new

240 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
meaning and a new radiance. What, for
example, is the import of that remarkable
passage in the twenty-third verse of the first
chapter — ' If any be a hearer of the word,
and not a doer, he is like unto a man behold
ing his natural face in a glass ' ? I paraphrase
it thus : ' No man can do practical work by
seeing his soiled face in a glass — by looking
exclusively on his naturally mean aspect and
squalid surroundings. That will not help you
to act ; it will depress you, it will paralyse
you. If you want to be aided in your work,
you must gaze into an ideal mirror — must
see yourself, not as you are, but as you ought
to be, as you may be, as you shall be. You
must behold your better self, your coming
self, your Godward self. You must measure
your possibilities, not by viewing the marred
image in the looking-glass of the past, but
by contemplating the glorious form which is
foreshadowed in the mirror of the future.'
This was what James had himself found by
experience. He was doing the same prosaic
work which he had ever done ; but he was

JAMES THE SOFTENED 241
doing it much better. The reason was not
that his eye was more intently fixed on the
hour, but that he had come to see something
beyond the hour. He had received a promise
of promotion. There had opened before his
vision a prospect of green fields. There had
sounded in his ear a strain of far-off music.
There had been wafted to his sense a perfume
of sweet flowers. The vision and the music
and the perfume had passed into his soul
and thence into his hand. They had given
a new energy to his mind, and that energy
had streamed through his body. It had made
him a better workman, a better servant, a
better organiser. It had given him more
speed, more concentration, more skill. He
had found that the things of the spirit helped
the things of the flesh.
Take another passage from this remarkable
letter, and you will see again how James had
changed his mind about the antagonism
between prosaic work and ecstatic contem
plation. The words to which I allude are
these, ' The fervent prayer of a righteous
Q

242 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
man is powerful by its working.' The idea
is that inward trust helps the outward hand.
Let me illustrate what he means. He himself
gives us a definition of what he understands
by religion — 'Pure religion and undefiled
before our God and Father is this, to visit
the fatherless and the widows in their afflic
tion and to keep unspotted from the world.'
Now, as a mere outward act, this is a most
difficult thing to do. If our view is limited
to the earthly horizon, this visiting is to
us a positive pain. To come into contact
with scenes of misery, of poverty, of destitu
tion, is a soul-depressing thing if one has no
comfort to bring. Outside of religion, one
could only continue such visiting by sys
tematically hardening his heart. All pessi
mism hardens ; despair is ever benumbing.
And because it is benumbing, it is unfavour
able to work. It may visit afflicted widows
and orphans, but it will be as one visits the
tombstones — with the conviction that nothing
can be done. This was what James felt in
the days when his heart was unsoftened. He

JAMES THE SOFTENED 243
found that he could only preach resignation,
submission, sullen silence — that he could not
lift by one hair-breadth the stone from the
sepulchre door. But when as a Christian he
began to pray, his heart was softened with
hope. When there came to him an inward trust
that these children of affliction were already
folded in the arms of a heavenly Father who
would by no means let them go until He
had blessed them, then it was that James
felt the impulse to action. As the ice of
despair melted, the river of life began to
show its possibilities. As a gleam appeared
in the sky, a new energy came to the arm.
He had heart to toil for these people, spirit
to work for them, nerve to plan for them ; the
fervent trust had inspired effectual service.
He felt what every sick-nurse feels — that
hope is a dynamic power, that the skill of
the hand is aided by the light in the heart,
and that the crushing labour of to-day is
shared and alleviated by the strength received
from to-morrow.
James, then, through the softening contact

244 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
of Christianity, is conscious of an increased
power of work. But according to this singular
letter, there is another thing he is conscious
of — an increased power of toleration. He
says, ' The wisdom that is from above is first
pure, then peaceable, gentle and easy to be
intreated.' There was a time when he would
have reasoned in an opposite way. He would
have said, 'The wisdom from above is pure,
and, because it is pure, it is uncompromising
to all other systems.' What has effected the
change ? That the change is effected, is mani
fest. It is not only breathed in his letter ; it
is evinced in his life. This man whose spring
was so sombre, so cold, so forbidding, is in his
autumn the harbinger of peace. It is to him
that we are indebted for the first oil thrown
on the waters in the great controversy be
tween the Gentile and the Jew. It is to him
that we owe the decision of that peaceful
Council at Jerusalem where a kindly hand
was laid upon the contending parties and a
conciliatory message to each healed their
mutual wounds. Nay, it is to him, along

JAMES THE SOFTENED 245
with Peter, that in the last result we attribute
the recognition by the narrow Church in
Judea of the broad apostle Paul.1 All this
indicates a softening of the first austerity,
an advance in the spirit of toleration. But
whence came this advance? Whence pro
ceeded this increased power of toleration?
From the same source as his increased power
of work — from the spirit of Christian hope.
For, I have no hesitation in saying that
toleration as well as work is facilitated by
hope. I know that the opposite is the com
mon view. The popular opinion is that in
tolerance is proportionate to assurance. There
are not wanting those who say that tolerance
has advanced side by side with doubt and
that we have become less rigid as we have
become more unbelieving. I cannot accept
this doctrine. I believe intolerance to be
always the fruit of fear, and its opposite to be
always the fruit of confidence. Indifference
may spring from unbelief; but indifference
has no more to do with toleration than with
1 Gal. i. 18 and 19.

246 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
bigotry — it is the absence of all feeling.
Toleration, on the other hand, implies a
very profound feeling — a sense that all will
be right. The tolerant man is the man
who stands amid the storm and refuses
by violence to suppress the winds and the
waves. He is not afraid of the winds and
the waves. The writer of the Apocalypse
says of the Heavenly City, ' The gates of it
shall not be shut at all by day, for there shall
be no night there.' It is so with every con
fident human heart ; nightlessness produces
liberality. The heart which sees no shadow
throws open its gates to all opinions. It fears
not to give an entrance to sentiments not its
own. Its breadth comes from its clearness,
not from its cloud. Abiding faith makes
abiding charity. Not from doubt, not from
uncertainty, does toleration flow. It comes
from a sight of the crystal river proceeding
from the throne of God. The man who has
entered by the door into the sheepfold has
liberty to come out at pleasure and to bring
pasture from other folds. The words of the

JAMES THE SOFTENED 247
Master remain valid for all time, and cogent
for all experience, 'The truth shall make
you free.'

T ORD, in these latter days ours is the
¦* — ' lot of James ; we are all children of
the autumn. We have not seen the spring
time. We were not among those who gazed
upon Thy visible glory. I have often re
gretted this. I have often been sad that I
was ' born out of due time.' I have lamented
that I have not looked upon Thy face or
heard Thy voice or felt the clasp of Thy hand
— that Thou hast walked in my garden only
when the leaves were falling. And to me in
such mood the story of Thy disciple James
brings the sweetest of messages. He also was
too late for the spring — too late by his own
fault. Yet, spite of his lateness and spite of
his blame, his autumn was bright and glorious.
Thou wert at his fireside, and he saw Thee
not ; but he felt Thy presence when the cloud
had received Thee out of his sight. I thank

248 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Thee for that picture in the Gallery, 0 Lord ;
it speaks to me. It gives me hope, courage,
expectation. It tells me that Thy gifts are
not limited to the morning. I too may have
an autumn glory. Though inland far I be,
though I have never seen the ocean wave,
though I hear not the water of life breaking
on the shore, though the breath of the brine
has passed me by and the sparkle of the spray
has ignored me, I too may find Thee in the
silent field. Come to my autumn, O Christ ;
come to my inland life ! Come to the leaves
that are falling; come to the woods that are
thinning ; come to the flowers that are fading !
Bring Thine Eden to my evening, Thy Nazareth
to my night ! Kindle my western sky with
the light of the eastern star ! Speak hope
to my waning years ! Sing songs to my
faltering feet ! Plant promises in my autumn
soil! Make chariots of the clouds that hide
Thee ! Deliver Thy beatitudes standing on
the Nebo of my declining days ! Then to
me, as to Thy disciple, there shall be light
at evening time.

CHAPTER XII
BARNABAS THE CHASTENED
I AM now coming to the figure of a great
preacher of the early Christian Church — one
who in his day enjoyed the rare privilege of
being the friend of opposite parties. I speak
of the man who was known to his contempo
raries and who is known to posterity by the
name of Barnabas. The name was not his
own. It was really a term of endearment
meaning 'the son of consolation,' or, as it
might be rendered, 'the son of exhortation.'
It signified that in the opinion of men his
preaching of Christian truth was of a most
helpful nature, pouring balm on the wounded
and giving strength to the weary. The name
of love has stuck to him. It has painted him
to all ages as a man of supreme kindness, of
much tolerance, of wide charity — eager for the
249

250 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
comfort of the distressed and impressed by the
duties which he owed to the poor. A rich
man himself, he felt that a trust had been
committed to him ; a preacher of Christ's
Gospel, he felt that a responsibility had been
laid upon him ; a member of the prophetic
school, he felt that he must help to hasten the
march to the Promised Land.
This is the second of the great Christian
preachers we have met in the Gallery. The
first was John the Baptist. Nothing can
exceed the difference between these two repre
sentatives of pulpit eloquence. The Baptist
is immured in a Jewish desert; Barnabas
grows up in the free air of Cyprus Isle and
by the blue waters of a far-sounding sea. The
Baptist is all fire ; Barnabas is all persuasion.
The Baptist would break down the stubborn
strongholds ; Barnabas would bind the broken
hearts. The Baptist proclaims the terrors of
judgment ; Barnabas points to the joys of
Paradise. The Baptist frightens by the famine
and the swine-husks ; Barnabas tempts by the
ring and the robe and the welcome.

BARNABAS THE CHASTENED 251
From what sin was such a good man con
verted? — that is the question which rises to
the lips as we gaze on his face in the Gallery.
Remember, I have no historical information
on the subject. I have never seen the primitive
Barnabas ; when he appears before me, he is
already a leader of men. Is there any other
mode of discovering his past? I think there
is. Let us look at the man as he flashes before
us in the Great Gallery at the height of his
Christian influence and in the blaze of his
Christian fame. Let us ask if even in this
white apparel we can discover the remains of
any stain, if even on this fair face we can find
the traces of a scar. If we can, you may be
sure that we have reached the beginnings of the
man — have put our hand on what was once
a black mark, have laid our finger on what
was originally an ugly sore.
Now, beautiful as the character of Barnabas
is, we are permitted to see in it one flaw ; and
we are entitled to regard this flaw as a remain
ing trace of that which in the old days was
his besetting sin. What is it? I should be

252 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
disposed to describe it as a particular kind of
pride — the pride of race. I say, ' a particular
kind ' of pride. I would sharply distinguish it,
for example, from personal pride or egotism —
that kind of pride to which the evangelist
John in his early days was subject. The pride
of race is compatible with personal humility —
it may exist side by side with a sense of
individual unworthiness. The Jew, indeed,
was apt to sink himself in his country — to
become personally humble in proportion as
he grew patriotically proud. Again, I would
distinguish this pride from the pride of wealth.
Barnabas was rich, but he was not proud of
his riches. In the very first recorded scene of
his life we find him selling his land and giving
the money to the Church. But is that incom
patible with the pride of race ! Would it be
thought very extravagant if I said that it
was the pride of race helped him to do so?
Barnabas was a Levite — and the Levites, as
individuals, had originally no land ; they were
forbidden to inherit it, and they were at first
too poor to purchase it. If, as wealth accumu-

BARNABAS THE CHASTENED 253
lated, they acquired it by purchase, a man like
Barnabas might well feel that the ancestral
glory had been departed from — that the law
had been violated in spirit while preserved in
the letter ; and he might well resolve that, in
his case at least, there should be a return to
the life of his forefathers. I do not disparage
his charity — God forbid ! I do not minimise
his goodness of heart — that was of the purest.
But I do say that in the achieving of this good
thing ancestral pride may well have co
operated, and that his personal life may have
been humbled by the very consciousness of
his national dignity.
Unfortunately for Barnabas, it was not
always to good things that this pride led him.
Perhaps I should say, ' fortunately.' A man
only learns his defect in being chastened — in
finding that the ways in which it leads are not
ways of pleasantness nor its paths paths of
peace. If it always brought him into pastures
green, he might come to reverence it. But
when it pushes him into quagmires, drives him
among thorns, throws him down in stony

254 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
places, wanders him amid labyrinths, then the
man cries, ' There is something wrong here —
something which incommodes me, hurts me,
retards me, and which at all hazards I must
get rid of.' That is the Christian history of
Barnabas. It is the history of a man who has
been transformed from a Jew into a follower
of the Cross, but who has carried over with
him a remnant of that old ancestral pride
which was so prevalent among his countrymen.
It is the history of that process of chastening
by which this remnant of an old sin was
assailed, by which the man was made to feel
that the spirit of caste was not the spirit of
consolation. In no other light can we read
with profit the life of Barnabas. Looked at
from the purely secular side, it is a very sad
life. It begins in glorious morning ; it closes
in a cloudy afternoon. It opens with music
and dancing ; it concludes amid the silence.
Its rise is hailed with plaudits ; its setting is
marked by obscurity. Very sad, I say, from
a secular point of view is this life of Barnabas.
But from a Christian point of view it reads

BARNABAS THE CHASTENED 255
very differently. If you believe that this
decline is a chastening, if you are convinced
that the branches lopped from the tree were
useless branches, if you feel that the adversity
was a revelation that there was still something
defective in this man's soul, then will the
afternoon of Barnabas be better than his morn
ing and the shadows of his obscurity more
healthy than the glare of his fame. Let us
briefly follow the stream of the narrative.
When the great preacher was in the blaze
of his glory, there came to Jerusalem another
and a rising preacher who promised in the
future to be great. It was young Saul of
Tarsus, who after a bitter persecution of
Christianity had been converted to the faith
he maligned and had taken the name of Paul.
There had burst upon him the conviction that
his special call was not to his own countrymen,
but to the Gentiles ; it was among these that
the sun of his fame rose. From the standpoint
of the Jew this was not a very promising
beginning. That a scion of the race of Israel
should embrace a faith which professed to be

256 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
cosmopolitan, was bad enough ; that he should
single out the Gentiles for a special interest,
was maddening. Even the Jewish Christians
were not prepared to hail such an advocate.
They had always been accustomed to claim
the largest room ; here was a man that would
dispossess them of their privilege ! Might not
this be only another form of the persecution —
an attempt to destroy Christ by denying His
special relation to the land of their fathers !
Was this a man to be trusted ! Were his
antecedents such as made him an object of
trust! Had he not been a bitter enemy of
their faith ! Was a change so sudden as his
likely to be real, or, if real, likely to be per
manent ! Were they not standing on the
brink of a precipice ; let them beware !
And so, when this young preacher came to
Jerusalem, he was received coldly. Men shrank
from him as from a pestilence. There are
times when nothing can raise a man in public
estimation but the support of a powerful hand.
The man who is under disgrace, under sus
picion, under the ban of the multitude, will

BARNABAS THE CHASTENED 257
probably lie there until he is lifted by some
one higher than the multitude. But when that
happens, the influence of the one will in all
likelihood outweigh the influence of the many.
So was it with Paul. For a time he lay
prostrate in obscurity — shunned and feared by
his Christian countrymen. Suddenly, a big
hand touched him, and two big arms lifted
him up, and a big voice proclaimed, ' This man
is our brother.' The hand, the arms, the voice,
were those of Barnabas. It was exactly the
thing we should expect Barnabas to do. He
was by nature a consoler. The sounds which
first reached his ear were ever the plaints of
weakness. To be downtrodden, to have every
body against you, to be despised and rejected
by your fellow-men, was quite sufficient to
place you within sight of the sympathy of
Barnabas. His large heart took in the desolate
Paul and made a way for him in the world.
He led him to the College of Apostles. He
brought him to the President of that college —
James the Lord's brother, to win whose influ
ence was the key to the whole position. He
R

258 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
told of Paul's zeal, of his ardour, of his success.
He lost no opportunity of bringing his talents
into notice. When Paul had gone back to
Tarsus and Barnabas had gone to electrify
with his wisdom the Church at Antioch, the
older preacher was sad because he had all the
glory. He wanted the young man to share
it ; he determined that he should share it. He
went to Tarsus and brought him to the scene
of triumph. He gave him a place among the
Christian workers. He went about continually
in his company, that men might say, 'There
go Barnabas and Paul.' He knew well the
power of association — how a tarnished name
if linked with a great name may lose its
tarnish ; and he resolved that Paul should
reap the advantage of such a union.
This was generous, this was noble. But
what if the association should be inverted !
What if in process of time the conjunction
should be, not ' Barnabas and Paul,' but ' Paul
and Barnabas ' ! It is quite a common thing
to see a mature preacher take a young preacher
under his patronage, and in a brief space to

BARNABAS THE CHASTENED 259
behold the young man becoming the leader.
In the present instance this actually happened.
For a while the name of Barnabas precedes,
and that of Paul follows ; then there is a
change — the order is ' Paul and Barnabas.'
The reason is plain. Paul has revealed him
self as the greater power. I do not say, as
the greater man. If Christian greatness be
the spirit of goodness, Barnabas must ever
remain one of the loftiest human souls. But
if Barnabas was unsurpassed as a man, he was
surpassed as a power. It was not long before
a superior force made itself felt in the little
band — it was the mind of Saul of Tarsus.
He entered as a dependent; he ended as a
leader. He came to the front by the sheer
force of intellect. His mind was in some
respects a contrast to that of Barnabas.
Barnabas was entirely practical; Paul was,
before all things, speculative. Barnabas was
naturally calm ; Paul was generally on fire.
Barnabas was methodical ; Paul moved on
wings. Barnabas was an organiser ; Paul
was an inspirer. Barnabas was a man of

260 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
counsel ; Paul was a man of genius. It was
inevitable that the stronger force should in
the long-run be the dominant force ; it was
certain from the outset that the leading spirit
of the company would be, not Barnabas, but
Paul. But the question which I ask is this, What
effect would this have upon Barnabas ? Would
it touch his jealousy? Never — that, at least,
may be confidently affirmed. This man was
incapable of jealousy. It had no part in his
nature, which was essentially free from in
dividual self-seeking. But if you ask me if
it would touch his pride of race, then, looking
to what happened afterwards, I must give
a very different answer. I think this is the
very element in Barnabas which the superior
deference paid to Paul would touch. It is true,
Paul was as Jewish as himself and had a lineage
as good as his own. But those of whom Paul
was exclusively the missionary were, in the view
of Barnabas, without lineage — the Gentiles had
no descent from Abraham. Why should one
who represented the Gentiles alone, be seated on

BARNABAS THE CHASTENED 261
a higher throne than one who, however tolerant
and however eager to make Gentile converts,
had been originally the representative of an
older and more venerable line — of that Church
which professed to be the latest flower of
Judaism and the fulfilment of her Messianic
dreams ! Was it right, was it well, that it should
be so ! Ought not the first branch to be the
cherished branch ! Had it not been deemed
in days of yore the proudest of all dignities
to belong to the primitive fold ; why had the
time come when men were turning aside from
this reverence to crown one who served the
fold of a stranger !
I think that, parallel with his own declining
influence, this was the ever-deepening thought
of Barnabas. It was not a jealous feeling, it
was not even a personal feeling; it was the
pride of race. He thought of himself, not as
an individual, but as the member of a venerable
community which, in the mind even of the
Gentile, should ever have the highest place
of reverence. Yet, impersonal as it was, the
feeling was the remnant of a garment which

262 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
ought to have been discarded, and which,
because it was not discarded, became a source
of discord. It was not long before the cloud
brooding over the heart was made visible in
the sky. It first gathered at Perga. John
Mark, the favourite nephew of Barnabas, de
serted the Gentile band and went back to the
Mother Church at Jerusalem. In the next
chapter I shall speak of him separately, and
I only allude to him now with a view to
illustrate the attitude of Barnabas. But I
think his conduct has a bearing on the atti
tude of Barnabas. When I remember that
even after the separation the uncle and nephew
still remained on excellent terms, when I re
collect how amply it was revealed in the future
that the elder man had condoned the deed of
the younger, I cannot avoid the conclusion
that in the mind of that elder man there
had risen a shadow of displeasure which
had dimmed the glory of the morning and
spread a chill through the once -genial
air. But the shadow was to deepen, the chill

BARNABAS THE CHASTENED 263
was to increase. By and by there was a con
ference summoned at Antioch.1 It was to be
a meeting for purposes of Church-union. All
parties were to be represented ; all parties
came. The Gentile Christians were probably
first in the field — Antioch being a Gentile city.
Then would come the Hellenists — the men
who, though now Grecianised, had either been
originally pure Jews or had sprung from
Jewish ancestors ; and these sat down beside
the purely Gentile converts. Then appeared
the fewish Christians ; and they too sat down
with the Hellenist and the Jew. At last came
deputies from that ecclesiastical board of ad
ministration over which James presided — men
who, however liberal, were full of Jewish
memories and deep in the caste of nation
ality. And when these came, they would not
sit down with the mass. They were willing
to make copious concessions to the Gentiles,
but not to give their company ; they could
patronise, but not fraternise. They held them
selves apart. They kept in an isolated corner.
1 So I interpret Galatians ii. 11-14.

264 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
They constituted themselves an inner court of
the tabernacle and allowed the party of Paul
to remain outside. Gradually, an effect was
produced by this attitude. The Jewish Chris
tians began to steal away from the seats they
had taken and to form independent groups.
Peter quietly removed himself — but simply
from a return of his native timidity. There
was worse to follow — Barnabas removed him
self. This was not timidity, nor was it the
impulse of the hour. It must have been the
result of a long process of dissatisfaction.
Barnabas was not an impulsive man and he
was not a passionate man. What he did
he did from reflection — a reflection which,
though bitter, was dictated, I believe, by an
erroneous sense of duty. I think it was really
at him that Paul levelled his rebuke. He
addressed Peter, but only because he was
the virtual chairman of the company. It
was Barnabas that made him sore. It was
Barnabas that awakened his astonishment and
indignation. It was Barnabas that quickened
him to the frailty of human nature and to the

BARNABAS THE CHASTENED 265
inveterate and wellnigh invincible weakness
that dwells in the heart of man.
At last the cloud descended in a stream
of piteous rain. In process of time Paul pro
posed that he and Barnabas should make a
second missionary tour over the ground they
had already trodden. Barnabas, you will
observe, has now ceased to be the suggester
of the Gospel programme ; its ordering has
passed into the hand of Paul. Yet the former
leader is willing here to be the follower. He
consents to go, provided Paul will allow John
Mark to accompany them. Paul emphatically
refuses. Had not this man deserted the
standard ! Had he not preferred another field
to the field so dear to Paul's heart! Were
any family considerations to alleviate the
blame of such conduct ! John Mark must
be viewed, not as the nephew of Barnabas,
but as a neutral party ! He must be treated
on his own merits — not as the scion of an
old house, but as if he were an individual
unbefriended, obscure, alone ! Judged by that
test, he had been found wanting ! There was

266 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
a rent in his garment which could not be
patched over with family colours ; let the man
abide where he had elected to be. So said
Paul ; and it was the last straw. For then
the storm broke. Barnabas retorted ; Paul
replied. The waters pent up for months burst
their barriers and rushed into the open. The
quarrel which began with being vicarious be
came personal ; mutual recriminations came,
and words ran high. At last that happened
which in such cases often happens — the less
capable combatant left the room and slammed
the door. That was in effect what Barnabas
did. He threw up his work. He abandoned
the mission. He bade farewell to the scene
of his labours, to Paul, to the comrades of
his midday. He withdrew into his shell —
Cyprus. He saw the drama of a great career
fade before him ; and his life which promised
to fill the world was confined within the limits
of a little isle. There was again a change in the
Gospel partnership. First it had been 'Barna
bas and Paul' ; then it was ' Paul and Barnabas ' ;
henceforth it was to be ' Paul ' alone.

BARNABAS THE CHASTENED 267
Who was wrong in the result of this quarrel ?
Undoubtedly Barnabas. I waive altogether
the subject of John Mark's treatment. It is
a question which is irrelevant ; and it ought to
have been a question subordinate to Gospel
interests. Why should Barnabas have allowed
a family consideration to outweigh his work for
Christ ! Why should he have diminished that
work for any discourtesy paid to his house ! I
believe this last act of his was a final judg
ment on that lingering weakness of his life —
the pride of race. I feel sure that before long
it was accepted as such by himself — as his
revelation of the pitfall in the way. Why do
I think that he lived to regret the step he
had taken? So far as I know, he and Paul
never met again ; what makes me think that
Barnabas came to shake hands in spirit?
There are two things which lead me to that
conclusion. One is the fact that, long years
afterwards, an extravagantly Pauline letter
appeared bearing the name of Barnabas. Its
genuineness is outwardly very well attested ;
internally, the production is thought very un-

268 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
like him. The reason of the supposed unlike-
ness is just the fact that he is so unfettered
in his treatment of the Jewish scriptures — one
would say he had passed over to the Gentiles.
Altogether, I do not myself think that he is
the author of that letter ; but I do think that
the fact of its being attributed to him shows
where, in his last years, his mind was known
to lie. It shows that in the opinion of his
contemporaries his life, as it neared the setting
sun, came nearer and ever nearer to that
ocean of universal love in which Paul bathed
all the day — where there was neither Jew nor
Greek, barbarian nor Roman, bond nor free —
where the only flag unfurled was the flag of
humanity. But there is another reason why I think
the closing years of Barnabas were years of
reconciliation. The nephew came back to
Paul — came back under circumstances which
made the sacrifice all on his side and the gain
entirely on Paul's. As the subject will recur
hereafter I shall not dwell upon it here. The
one point is that the nephew did come back —

BARNABAS THE CHASTENED 269
came back at a time when love alone could
have brought him. And when we consider that
after Paul had rejected his services he had gone
to live with his uncle, his act of reconciliation
throws back its light upon Barnabas. It shows
clearly that the spirit of Barnabas had been
sweetened by the years. If the impression
left by the uncle on the nephew's mind had
been one of bitterness, he would have shunned
Paul for evermore. We do not love those
by whom a near and dear relative has been
stung, even where the sting has been justly
implanted. The return of John Mark proves
to my -mind that from the breast of Barnabas
the sting had been long extracted, and that
in its room had been planted the spirit of
reconciliation. It proves that, in his sphere
of comparative imprisonment in the isle of
Cyprus, the heart of Barnabas, at least, had
burst its chain. Though no longer he was
aiding Paul with the hand, his soul was going
with him. His sympathies were breaking forth
from Cyprus and following his companion of
early years — rejoicing in his triumphs, sharing

270 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
in his griefs, participating in his burdens,
joining in his prayers. The outward union
to him personally was not to be restored ;
but the union in the spirit was already com
plete, and to his kinsman he left the clasping
of the hands.

T ORD, let not the sun go down upon my
-¦ — ' wrath! Life is too short for quarrels.
Yet it is not because life is short that I would
have peace. It is because eternity is long.
How strange my old quarrels look in the
light of vanished years ! Methinks they will
look stranger still in the light of Thine
eternity. I am ambitious now, and I shall
be ambitious then; but the things for which
I am ambitious now are not the things for
which I shall be ambitious then. Now I
strive to get ; then I shall strive to give.
Now I seek possession ; then I shall try to
be dispossessed. Now I covet the uppermost
seat ; then I shall descend the stair. Now I
select the best robe ; then I shall choose the

BARNABAS THE CHASTENED 271
servant's form. I see Paul and Barnabas
standing before Thy presence, and there is
still a strife between them. But the cause
of strife is changed — Paul wishes Barnabas
to be first, and Barnabas is eager to remain
second; they wonder at their old quarrel in
the light of Thy throne. Reveal that light
to me, O Lord! In my hour of quarrel, in
the hour when I strive to be first, give me
a glimpse of the soul's last judgment on
itself — its reversed judgment! Let me see
Cain rejoicing over the acceptance of Abel's
sacrifice! Let me see Lot repudiating the
richer share! Let me see Sarah making a
home for Ishmael! Let me see Jacob re
fusing his brother's birthright! Let me see
Joseph exalting his brethren in his dreams !
Let me see David take Uriah's place in the
battle ! Let me see Jonah intent on sparing
Nineveh ! Let me see Herod exulting in the
sustenance of the babes of Bethlehem ! Then
shall the light of eternity arrest the strife of
time ; Paul and Barnabas shall stand side
by side.

CHAPTER XIII
MARK THE STEADIED
On that night in which Jesus was betrayed,
all who were with Him in the Garden for
sook Him and fled. But there was one
who followed Him though he had not been
with Him in the Garden. When the soldiers
came out to the public road leading their
august prisoner, an obscure young man did
what the others had feared to do — took a few
steps in company with Jesus. It was only a
few steps — his strength was not equal to the
strain ; when the soldiers laid hands upon his
garment he left it in their hands and fled like
the rest. Yet he had gone a yard or two
further than the men of the Garden in the
following of Jesus. He had at least made
a movement forward, not backward ; and, by
that short walk, ' he, being dead, yet speaketh.'
272

MARK THE STEADIED 273
I doubt not that the recording angel wrote
down his name, or rather his namelessness,
as a proof that the obscure may often sur
pass the illustrious, and that he expressed
the sense of his superiority to the watchers in
the Garden by affixing the inscription, ' A day's
march nearer home.'
Now, in the view of tradition this young
man was Mark the Evangelist. It is in his
Gospel the story is told, and he has been
thought by many to be speaking of himself.
Let it be understood, once for all, that when
I say ' Mark the Evangelist ' I mean every
man who in the New Testament is mentioned
by the name of Mark — whether it be John
Mark or the Mark whom Paul summons to
Rome or the Mark who resides with Peter in
Babylon. I prejudge no question of criticism
as to matters of fact. But when the question
is simply, What is meant to be conveyed by
the artist? I have no hesitation in accepting
the belief that in the design of the Gallery
they are all one and the same person. My
whole province here is to expound the Gallery.
s

274 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
I shall start therefore with the assumption that
in the Gallery of the New Testament there is
but one figure of the name — a figure which
passes through a variety of changes in its
transition from youth to maturity — which rises
in the heart of Jerusalem and is lost to view
in the heart of Rome — which is known to its
contemporaries as the nephew of Barnabas
and to all posterity as the writer of a Gospel.
We shall endeavour to weave into unity these
various threads which at first seem separate
and independent, and to present the picture
of this man as the representative of a dis
tinct idea and the embodiment of a special
thought. Whether John Mark be or be not the young
man described at the egress from the Garden,
there can be no doubt that the description
suits him. We see there the picture of a
splendid advance and a sudden recoil. That
is exactly the portrait of Mark. If I were
asked to indicate his leading feature, I should
define him as 'the unsteady man.' Let me
explain precisely what I mean. It is quite

MARK THE STEADIED 275
a common thing among ourselves to say of a
young man, ' Unfortunately, he is not steady.'
But when we say that, we always imply one
thing — that he is not steady in well-doing.
We generally apply the phrase to one who,
after walking awhile in pastures green, is found
staggering with drink in street and lane. That
is certainly an interruption of steadiness ; but
it is not the unsteadiness of which I here
speak, nor that which I attribute to John
Mark. In the broad and strict sense of the
word, unsteadiness has no more to do with
ill-doing than Vith well-doing. An unsteady
young man is a young man who is unable to
keep to one definite purpose — who in a brief
space deserts it for another. So far as this
quality is concerned, it matters nothing whether
he wavers between the good and the bad,
between the bad and the bad, or between
the good and the good ; each of these cases
alike implies an irresolute will. Many a man
turns from one occupation to another with
perfect honesty and perfect conviction. He
may begin by trying to write history ; then

276 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
he may attempt science ; then he may aspire
to poetry ; then he may take up the work of
the artist. We call such an unsteady man.
Not one of the conflicting aims is bad — they
are each good and noble. But the fact that
in the man's mind they are conflicting, proves
him to be unsteady. I do not think that John
Mark ever deserted a good cause for a bad ;
the point is that he was constantly deserting
one cause for another. This is why I call
him ' Mark the unsteady.' He stands as a
representative of the man who does not know
his own mind, the unstable man, the wavering
man. His impulses are all for good ; but they
are not long directed toward the same good ;
it is the blue to-day, the green to-morrow,
the red next day. He never sinks to the
degraded ; but he has no permanent interest
in any particular cause which is sublime.
When we first meet the name of John Mark,
he is already a Christian. He was in an ad
mirable atmosphere for becoming a Christian.
He belonged to a Christian family. His
uncle was Barnabas. His mother was Mary

MARK THE STEADIED 277
of Jerusalem — a woman of worldly means and
unworldly piety. Her house in the Jewish
metropolis was a place of rendezvous — a salon
where met from time to time the leaders of
the faith. Sometimes it was for purposes of
prayer, sometimes for exhortation, sometimes
for social intercourse. Amid the amenities of
this circle young Mark enjoyed great ad
vantages ; he learned the nature of Christi
anity almost from the fountainhead, and he
saw it represented in its adaptation to varied
minds. The man whom he first met was
the man who bound the earliest cord round
his heart; it was Simon Peter. The Master
had given to Peter the key to many human
doors ; and the door of Mark's spirit opened
to him of its own accord. There was some
thing in the natures of these men which drew
them into harmony. They had both naturally
the same mental disease — a wavering will.
The causes of the malady were of course very
different. Peter was originally timid and was
frightened by the first cloud ; Mark was
constitutionally volatile and was drawn else-

278 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
where by the second sunbeam. Yet the fact
of a common disease made a common sym
pathy, while the difference of its cause created
a power of mutual help. If the wavering in
each case had come from the same source,
Peter and Mark might have been sympa
thisers ; but they never could have been
helpers, for mutual help demands that each
should possess an element which is lacking
in the other. The blended likeness and
difference of these men united them on two
sides. Then, by and by, there came to Jerusalem
the man who was to become the other figure
of the apostolic age — Paul of Tarsus. He was
brought by Barnabas as a fellow-worker in the
relieving of a great famine. Here Mark for
the first time met Paul. I do not think the
man of Tarsus made as much impression upon
him as Peter had done. There was little
resemblance in their characters. If Mark was
wavering, Paul was inflexible. If Mark had
many objects of attraction, Paul had only
one. If Mark was drawn aside by passing

MARK THE STEADIED 279
sentiment, Paul was bound by the chain of a
permanent love. Nor do I think that at this
stage the cause of Paul was the cause of Mark.
I believe that originally the heart of the latter
was not with the Gentiles, but with the Jews.
It is not often that the younger generation is
less liberal than the older ; but I think Mark
was far more conservative than his uncle
Barnabas. They had lived in a different
environment. Barnabas had dwelt in the
comparatively free air of Cyprus, and had
seen many phases of many minds. He was
in the position of the man of travel. He had
come to find that there must be allowed a
certain amount of latitude for human thought,
and that we cannot expect all men to be
shaped in one mould. Mark, on the other
hand, was a child of Jerusalem. With Jeru
salem were linked his earliest, and therefore
his fondest, associations. It was the home
of his happiest years, the scene of his most
cherished memories. Religion itself had come
to him there, and had come in a joyous dress
— wreathed with social interest and decked

280 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
with colours gay. Jerusalem was very dear
to Mark, and anything that disparaged her,
anything that would tend to put her in the
second place, must have been strongly dis
tasteful to him. The enthusiasm for the
Gentile world was not to him the most
joyful of sounds.
Nevertheless, Barnabas requested that his
nephew should accompany him in his mis
sionary tour with Paul. I think the proposal
came from Barnabas. I think he was afraid
that the young man was getting inured to a
narrow atmosphere. If Paul had made the
request it is probable it would have been
refused. But when it came from the uncle,
when it was 'dictated by solicitude for Mark's
mental enlargement, when it was an appeal
for companionship by one for whom he cher
ished an affection and who cherished an affec
tion for him, it spoke to impulses outside of
religion and impulses which were fitted to strike
the youthful mind. Mark said, ' I will go.'
Accordingly, when Paul and Barnabas de
parted from Jerusalem they took Mark with

MARK THE STEADIED 281
them. It was a very unpromising beginning
for a missionary career. No man should enter
on such a career with any motive less than zeal
for the cause. Every step of Mark's journey
increased his homesick longing for the Chris
tian Church of Jerusalem. I know that his dis
content has been attributed to lower motives.
Men have spoken of him as lazy, idle, somno
lent, unwilling to put his hand to the plough
lest it should be soiled, averse to expose his
life lest it should be sacrificed. A more
ungenerous verdict was never pronounced —
it is refuted by his whole life. Mark was not
a selfish man ; he was never an idle man ; in
his later years he was the reverse of a timid
man — and these are the only years when he
had a real chance of displaying himself. His
bane was that he was a man of two ideas —
not of one. His was not a struggle between
the love of action and the love of ease. It
was a struggle with the temptation to act in
different ways either of which would in itself
be good. It was in the present instance a
struggle whether to abide with Paul or to

282 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
return to Peter. A man of steady will would
have battled down the temptation to return.
But Jerusalem the Golden, the Jerusalem of
his youth, the Jerusalem of his earliest joys,
was too strong for him ; it kept a corner in his
heart and would not let him go.
So, when the little company arrived at
Perga, Mark suddenly disappeared. I know
not in what manner he effected his departure —
whether he simply abandoned them or made
an excuse for absence or wrote a respectful
letter of resignation. It may be safely said
that nothing could confer dignity on his de
parture. Paul could only receive it as a slight
to the cause which was dearest to his heart — a
slight all the more impressive and all the more
stinging because it came from the nephew of the
very man who had been his patron in the hour
of need ; it was apt to make men say, ' If
Paul's own friends desert him, we need not
wonder at what his enemies do.' Mark went
back to Jerusalem. He was probably received
with contempt — as a rolling stone. A rolling
stone he certainly was ; but it was not rolling

MARK THE STEADIED 283
downhill. His was really a case of religious
homesickness. He was attached to the Church
of his fathers. Their city was to him the sacred
city, their temple the model and pattern of the
house of God. His heart could not beat in
unison with a movement which centred round
other cities and bowed the knee at other
shrines. He was jealous for the place of his
birth, for the school of his religious training,
for the associations and memories of his youth ;
and he was unwilling to bear a part in the
injuring of these. There was an element of
true loyalty in the weakness of John Mark.
By and by something happened at Jerusalem
which modified Mark's view. A conciliatory
council was held there to soften the differences
between Jews and Gentiles. As the result of
that council the Church at Jerusalem gave a
patronising recognition to the Gentiles. Phleg
matic and unaccompanied with enthusiasm as
the recognition was, it suggested to Mark the
possibility of another rolling movement on his
part. Was not Paul put in a new light by this
act of the council! Had not the Mother

284 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Church taken him under her wing ! Had not
Jerusalem given him her blessing ! Could not
Mark now offer his services to Paul without
being disloyal to Jerusalem ! On the former
occasion he had felt like a traitor to the past ;
but surely that reproach could not exist now !
Might he not go back to Paul and say, ' My
Church has publicly recognised the rights of
the Gentiles ; I may with a clear conscience
return to you' ! And then, his uncle Barnabas
was pleading with him to come back. He
missed the nephew's company. His relations
with Paul had become somewhat strained. He
had begun to feel alone and unbefriended. He
wanted a kinsman — some one to whom he
could pour out his heart. When Mark con
sidered all these things he was disposed to
return. He allowed Barnabas to make the
proposal to Paul. But Paul refused to receive
him — and from his point of view he may be
excused in so doing. His strong and inflexible
nature could not respect rolling stones. He
was unwilling to admit into his band of
workers a weak and wavering soul. Mark had

MARK THE STEADIED 285
recently deserted his cause ; why in so brief
a space should he change his mind again!
Was such a rapid reconversion any compli
ment to that cause, or did it give any security
for permanent adherence! Would not the
enrolling of such a man be only the intro
ducing into the ranks of an element of weak
ness and the sowing of unpromising seed in a
healthy and fertile field !
But if the modern spectator can excuse
Paul, Barnabas could not; he threw up the
cause and retired to Cyprus. He did not go
alone. He asked Mark to accompany him —
which shows that his wish to bring him back
had been rather personal than ecclesiastical.
And here the unfortunate Mark again changes
his front. He goes to Cyprus. He had been
a Jew ; he had been a Jewish Christian ; he
had been a Gentile Christian ; he had been
a Jewish Christian once more; he was well
nigh becoming a Gentile Christian once more.
Thwarted in this last resolve, what does he be
come now ? What name should we give to him
in Cyprus ? I would call him the companion to

286 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
a good man. I think he went neither for Jew
nor Gentile, but purely for the sake of Barnabas.
I have heard men sneer at this mission to
Cyprus. I have seen Christian writers point
with scorn to the narrow sphere he had chosen
for his labours and the life of laziness he had
purchased for his soul. It is an ungenerous
sneer. The mission of Mark to Cyprus was
not a religious mission. It was a mission of
human sympathy — sympathy for a private
friend. He went to comfort the grief and
cheer the solitude of one who had always
loved and befriended him and whose very
sorrow had been incurred in the effort to do
him service. You may call his journey to
Cyprus another movement of the stone ; yet it
was a movement not toward worldly pleasure
but toward Christian sacrifice.
How long Mark remained in Cyprus I do
not know — it may have been for years. In
any case, it must have been a time of much
benefit, moral and intellectual. He met the
Gentiles in a field where there was no conflict
— the life of social intercourse. He was able

MARK THE STEADIED 287
to look at them as men and women bearing
a common burden — to view them as fellow-
citizens apart from creed, apart from sect,
apart from church-membership, and to feel
that the soul of man was larger than his
systems. I doubt not that the days of Mark
in Cyprus did him good.
But there was coming to this man a greater
good still — an event which was to be the
turning-point of his life. There came to
him one day a call from across the sea ; and
the voice that uttered it was that of the man
who had attracted his youthful years — Simon
Peter. He called on Mark to help him — not
as a missionary, but as a secretary. The
former fisherman of Galilee knew well the
advantage he would reap from superior
culture. He knew that Mark had received
that culture — that he had possessed from
youth all the opportunities which wealth can
bring. There had been no hindrance to his
education. He had enjoyed the influences of
social refinement and the amenities of a happy
home. He had not been tossed upon the sea

288 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
as he himself had been, but had been allowed
to pitch his tent upon the hill. His superior
leisure had given him superior learning. Peter
wanted such a man — one who could clothe
his thoughts and interpret them to the people.
Mark heard his cry for help, and he said, ' I
will go.' Barnabas himself must have urged
him to go. All through his life no such suit
able opening had appeared for John Mark.
It was a place made for him, cut out for him,
fitted to bring into bold relief all that was best
and truest and noblest within him, and to
waken that which had long been asleep in
his heart — a definite purpose in living.
Little did John Mark know where in this
new occupation his opening was to lie. It
was not in having a fixed profession. It was
not in being thrown into direct contact with
the apostles. It was not even in the com
panionship with so great a soul as Peter. It
was in a greater companionship — that of
Christ Himself. Mark received from Peter
the notes of a Gospel. When he put these
together there emerged a portrait of the

MARK THE STEADIED 289
Master — the first portrait of the Master that
was ever presented to the human eye. As
Mark gazed upon the unexpected result of
his own handiwork, his spirit was stirred
within him. What did he see? The one
thing he needed to see — an aim in life.
Hitherto he had wavered between Jew and
Gentile. As he looked into that face, Jew
and Gentile alike vanished, and there shone
out only one form — Man. Jerusalem faded ;
Antioch faded ; and over the blank spaces
there rose the republic of human souls. As
he gazed upon that portrait there dawned on
him a great thought — the idea that what gave
men equal rights was neither Judaism nor
Gentilism, but the common cross of humanity.
What was that earliest portrait of the Master
which we now call the Gospel of Mark ? It
was the picture which delineated a great
physician — a healer of human woes. It was
the portrait of a soul that had put deeds in
the place of words — that felt life was too
short for verbal controversy and must be
approached by the work of the hand. It was
T

290 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
the depicting of one who did not ask at the
outset, ' Are you a Jew ? ' ' Are you a Gen
tile ? ' ' Are you a worshipper of any kind ? '
but whose primary question was, ' Have you
anything requiring to be healed ? '
And this portrait woke Mark's soul. There
rose within him a great resolve — he would
follow that picture of the Master. He would
stand aside in the question between Gentile
and Jew ; he would devote himself to a larger
problem. He would become a sick-nurse to
humanity, a minister to human need. And
by and by there occurred a chance for testing
his resolve. His old antagonist Paul came to
the depths of sorrow. His splendid mis
sionary career was at last interrupted ; the
bird was arrested in its flight, and caged.
The apostle, trapped by his Jewish country
men, languished within a prison at Caesarea.
A thought comes to Mark. Was not this the
place in which the definite purpose of his life
should begin ! Could there be a better time
for indecision to vanish and wavering to
cease! He had determined to follow the

MARK THE STEADIED 291
healing footsteps of Jesus ; were they not
leading him first of all to Caesarea to help
his opponent of former days ! Paul had
doubted the genuineness of his Gentilism ;
would he doubt the genuineness of his
humanity ! If he went to him in his poverty,
in his loneliness, in his hour of enforced
inaction — if he brought wealth to supply his
needs, fellowship to meet his solitude, a
ministrant hand to assist his weariness — would
not Paul at last believe in him ! Mark
resolves that he will yield to Paul's adversity
the homage which he had refused to his
prosperity, and that he will lend to his hours
of weakness the service of a slave to his
master. We know how gloriously his promise was
fulfilled ; there was no faltering, no paltering,
no altering, any more. He came to the prison
at Caesarea and supplicated permission to
serve. I know not how Paul received him.
Perhaps at first the gifts appeared anony
mously — Paul may have been beguiled into
love. But I know that ere long he was

292 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
conscious of Mark's nobleness — conscious that
at last a steady race had begun. Almost the
latest act of his life was to look back on these
days at Caesarea, and record his sense of how
profitable this man's ministration had been.
He gives him his word of recommendation —
he asks the Church to receive him. Nay,
there is something more touching still. When
the apostle's last day is drawing near, when
death stares him in the face, when most of
the companions of his former years have fled,
who is it that he asks for, who is it that he
longs to see? It is Mark. I can imagine
no greater compliment paid by man to man.
I should think it worth while to be rejected
a hundred times if as a recompense I received
such an approach at last. Did Mark go? I
feel sure he did. I have no doubt that he
went with Timothy to Rome to cheer Paul's
latest hours; and I believe that he remained
there to lead the ambulance corps of
humanity. There, not inappropriately, we
shall leave him — in the city of the steadfast,
in the place where of all others men had

MARK THE STEADIED 293
learned the wisdom of inflexible tenacity.
That city will confirm him in his acquired
robustness, and he will impart to her some
what of his original softness ; and it may be
that from this union there shall at length
emerge a beautiful and harmonious blend.

T ORD, I should like to join the ambulance
¦* — ' corps of humanity. I would rather be
a member of that band than either a Gentile
or a Jew. Thou art leading our age where
Mark was led — to the bearing of the cross.
Never has Thy portrait been studied so
deeply as now. In past days we studied
other portraits, and therefore we aspired to
other things than the human. We gazed on
Paul and cried, ' Great is the mystery of
Godhead ! ' We gazed on Peter and said,
' Show us the things which the angels desire
to look into ! ' We gazed on John and
exclaimed, ' Let us see the city of gold ! '
We gazed on Matthew and breathed the
prayer, ' Unroll the book of prophecy ! '

294 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
These were aspirings after heaven. But it
is only now that we have begun to aspire
after earth, have desired to see its mysteries
unveiled. It is only in gazing into Thy face
that we have seen the face of our brother-
man. Thou Hast kept the best wine till the
last, O Lord. I had been long seeking to
pierce the clouds of nature, but I had never
pierced the cloud in my brother's soul — never
till I saw Thee. Now there has come to me
a new evangel, nay, the old misread evangel.
Thou hast said to my soul, ' Why standest
thou gazing up into heaven ! the Son of Man
is coming down from heaven to earth.' I
asked Thee to open the sky ; Thou hast said,
' Open the prison doors ! ' I asked Thee for
a tabernacle on the mount ; Thou hast said,
' Heal the demoniac on the plain ! ' I asked
Thee for a sign of Thy coming ; Thou hast
said, ' It will be man's humanity to man.' I
asked Thee how I should learn Thy doctrine ;
Thou hast said, ' Feed my sheep ! ' I asked
for a gate into the temple ; Thou hast pointed
to a door in the hospital. I asked for Thy

MARK THE STEADIED 295
robing-room ; Thou hast shown me an
orphanage home. I asked to drink of Thy
cup ; Thou hast sent me to scenes of misery.
I asked to share Thy glory ; Thou hast called
me to restore one fallen soul. The service to
my Father has become the service to my
brother ; give me a place, O Lord, in earth's
ambulance corps !

CHAPTER XIV
CORNELIUS THE TRANSPLANTED
It may seem strange that I should place
the name of Cornelius after those of Barnabas
and Mark. Cornelius only figures at the
dawn of the apostolic age, Barnabas and
Mark survive into its midday ; why fall back
from a later to an earlier life ? It is because
in these pages I have followed a definite
principle of chronology. I have placed first
in order of time those figures of the Gallery
which came into clear and undoubted contact
with the earthly life of the Master — Peter,
John, Thomas, and the like. Next in order
of time I have placed the two men whose
contact with the earthly Christ is doubtful —
Barnabas and Mark. The former is said to
have been one of the seventy to whom Christ
personally intrusted a mission ; the latter, as
298

CORNELIUS THE TRANSPLANTED 297
I have already stated, has been traditionally
identified with the young man who followed
Jesus from the Garden. These, however, are
matters of conjecture, and so I have given
to the subjects of them a later place. After
these I have put those who neither in history
nor in tradition have been enrolled amid the
band which in His human form beheld the
Lord. Foremost among these in point of
time is the man Cornelius. He is not a
Jewish figure ; he is not even an Eastern
figure. He is a man of the West, a European,
a Roman. He is not only separated from
outward contact with fesus; he is separated
from outward contact with the environment
of Jesus. His life has been spent in war —
in the service of an empire whose aims
were not Messianic. He had breathed the
atmosphere of the camp rather than the air
of Calvary, had heard, not sermons on the
mount, but ribald jests on the highway.
Cornelius was the child of an empire which
had passed its meridian glory — the empire of
Tiberius, the empire of Caligula, the empire

298 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
which had lost the form of sound words and
the semblance of good deeds. He had not
been born within the compass of church bells.
By and by this man, as the captain of a
regiment, was ordered to Caesarea. He was
sent there to represent the fact of Roman
conquest, to exercise a military surveillance
over the district. But, all the time that he
was keeping military watch over Judea, Judea
kept moral watch over him. He came to
represent Rome's conquest of Israel ; he ended
by representing Israel's conquest of Rome.
He was converted by his own dependents —
converted to the faith of Judaism. His
nature became transformed. The dissolute
man grew devout. The proud man became
prayerful. The grasping man began to lavish
gratuities. The undomesticated man took up
the duties of a household, and specially the
care of its religious life. Cornelius was
conquered by the moral power of Judaism.
There are souls that in their ascent to
Christianity pass first through the faith of
their ancestors. Cornelius was one of these.

CORNELIUS THE TRANSPLANTED 299
He began as a Pagan, the worshipper of many
gods. Then he rose to be a Jew, the wor
shipper of one God of righteousness. Another
step remained to make him perfect ; he had
to become a Christian, the worshipper of a
God of grace.
We are disposed, indeed, to wonder what
was lacking to Cornelius. His Jewish faith
is described in such glowing colours that we
are tempted to ask what more could be
desired. A man of devoutness, a man of
prayer, a man of domestic virtue, a man of
public charity — has he not already done every
thing which a Christian can do ! Perhaps.
A boy who has been through the school
methods of arithmetic can do everything in
matters of calculation that an office-clerk can
do. But he will not do it in the same manner,
nor with the same quickness, and therefore he
could not be an office-clerk. Before he can
become that, he must get rid of his school
method, and learn a short road to the goal.
The most perfect penmanship will not fit a
man to be a reporter. In process of time he

300 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
could by ordinary penmanship do all that the
reporter does ; but the process of time is just
what is denied to him ; there is required a
shorthand process. That is what Cornelius
needed. He could calculate splendidly, he
could write beautifully ; but he could do both
only by school methods. He wanted a means
of coming to the goal with more ease and with
more rapidity — of reaching the summit of the
hill, not by an act of laborious climbing, but
by the movement of an eagle's wing. This
was the new stage that was coming to
Cornelius. The strange thing is that in teaching
Cornelius His own new evangel, God is re
presented in this picture as following the
old-school method. The man is to be taught
a quick way of reaching heaven ; but he is
taught it in a most cumbrous, lengthy, and
laborious manner. Have you ever considered
the singular character of that picture in the
tenth chapter of Acts. The man Cornelius
is about to receive the Holy Spirit — the most
unfettered gift which the Divine can bestow

CORNELIUS THE TRANSPLANTED 301
upon the human. Why does it not come
unfettered to Cornelius? We should expect
that it would have rushed into his soul like a
flash of sunshine, like a breath of morning.
Does it ? Listen to the lengthened process !
There comes to him a shining angel and tells
him that he is under the favour of heaven.
He bids Cornelius send men to Joppa to
summon Simon Peter, and gives directions
for finding his lodging. Three men are sent
on a day's journey to invite the apostle to
Joppa — two domestics of Cornelius and a
soldier who waited on him. One would think
the Divine would have quicker modes of
telegraphy! In the meantime, Peter also is
prepared by a vision for the receiving of a
Gentile convert, is told to count nothing
common or unclean. One asks, What need
of this preparation — ought he not to have
known that in the seed of Abraham all nations
were to be blessed ! Then Peter is wakened
from his dream by a knocking at the door,
and the three messengers of Cornelius enter.
They tell their story, and abide the whole day.

302 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Next morning they set out for Caesarea, ac
companied by Peter and a retinue of his
fellow - Christians ; and it is the following
day before they arrive. Cornelius, too, has
gathered to meet Peter a company of his
kinsmen. He falls down before the apostle
in an attitude of worship — showing that the
Paganism was not quite dead in his nature.
Peter raises him up and bids him transfer
his homage to Jesus. Then follows a sermon
on the life and work of Jesus ; and, as the
words strike the ear, the gift of God at last
descends, and Cornelius and his whole com
pany are filled with the Holy Ghost.
Now, to what purpose is this waste ! Why
extend over three days an act that might
have been momentary ! Why use so much
machinery for a deed that might have been
spontaneous ! The Divine Spirit required no
human message to Joppa — much less three
messengers. Simon Peter could not bring
Cornelius one step nearer to God Almighty ;
, he was already as near as he could be
without touching Him. Why revert to the

CORNELIUS THE TRANSPLANTED 303
stage-coach when we have the railway-train !
The Spirit's province is to blow where it listeth
— as the lightning cometh out of the east and
shineth even unto the west. There must be
some cause for this choice of a long way. If
an object is within reach of your hand and
you ring a bell to call from the other end of
the house some one who will give it to you,
it is clear you must have a motive beyond the
acquiring of the object. Can we discover any
motive for the use of so many hands in the
conversion of one man?
I think we can. Remember who this one
man is. He is a soldier. The design of this
picture is to delineate the transplanting of a
soldier. I say, 'the transplanting.' Cornelius
is' not to be annihilated and created a new
man. His soldierly qualities are to be trans
ferred to a Christian soil. But if you want
to do that, you must approach Cornelius as
a soldier. You must allow Christianity to
come to him in a military form. If you look
at the narrative in this light you will see
how singularly appropriate the experience was

304 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
to the man. Consider for one thing that the
entire constitution of an army rests on mutual
dependence. No one can be a successful
soldier as an individual ; he requires the co
operation of his fellows. Imagine that what
Cornelius wanted had been, not the spirit of
Christ, but the spirit of Mars the god of war
On what condition could Mars have promised
his spirit to Cornelius ? Only on the condition
that the same spirit should be shared by many
others, and that the common inspiration
should make itself felt in the ranks. One
soldier can no more make a victory than one
swallow can make a summer. If there is a
divided interest, there is a divided allegiance.
If one part of the ranks has the notion that
another part is animated by a different spirit,
the former will not only distrust the latter —
they will distrust their own strength, will be
paralysed in their own energy. If the god of
war had appeared to Cornelius he must have
told him that the state of things in Caesarea
would be affected by the state of things at
Joppa.

CORNELIUS THE TRANSPLANTED 305
Now, to this phase of the soldier-life Chris
tianity made appeal when it spoke to Cornelius.
He had asked the spirit of Jesus in room of
the spirit of Mars ; yet the new spirit addressed
him in the garb of the old. God revealed
Himself as the leader of an army, and Cor
nelius was made to feel that he was being
treated as a soldier. The voice said to him :
' Get as many as you can to take an interest
in the cause in which you are interested.
Enlist your two servants and the soldier who
waits upon you. Enlist your kinsmen and
friends. Enlist the sympathies of Simon
Peter and those who are in his train. Let
the representatives of all classes give a sub
scription to your cause — the domestic, the
soldier, the church - dignitary, the church-
worker, the companions of the social hour.
Let them each have a stone in the temple,
a window in the building. Bring me not your
own heart alone, but the sense that other
hearts are in union with yours.'
This, then, I take to be the first reason for
the protracted process in the conversion of
U

306 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Cornelius. The design is to transplant a
soldier, and therefore he is approached as a
military man — as one who has always asso
ciated victory with the co-operation of the
many. But I come to a second reason for
the protraction of the process, and one which
also lies in the appeal to a soldier. For, an
army is characterised, not only by the mutual
dependence of its members, but by their com
mon life of sacrifice. In time of war the
essence of military life is its sacrificial char
acter. I say, in time of war. There may be
licence in time of peace — the Roman soldier
was then no paragon. But in war there is no
life so full of sacrifice. Nor do I think that
the main stress of military sacrifice lies in the
hour of battle. There have been men in the
heat of battle who have for a time been un
conscious of their wounds. It seems to me
that the sorest part of a soldier's military life
is in the things which defer the battle, in the
objects which impose delay. It is in the long
and weary marches, in the treading of arduous
ground, in the exposure to thirst and hunger,

CORNELIUS THE TRANSPLANTED 307
in the fatigue and lassitude which accompany
a burning sun, in the demand to keep up the
spirit when there is no excitement, no call to
action, no enemy in view — it is there that the
sacrifice of the soldier appears. I believe that i
the deepest sacrifices in the soul of man are not
in life's actual battlefield, but in its moments ,
of silent endurance. Many a man can resist
the winecup in company who cannot resist it in
solitude ; for the idea of a thing is ever more
powerful than itself, and its image in the heart
outweighs its image in the hand. The life of
the soldier has embodied a truth of humanity.
Now, it is to this life of the soldier that in
the case of Cornelius Christianity appeals.
Cornelius is in hot haste, to reach his goal —
the Advent of the Divine Spirit. That will be
to him the beginning of the real battle with
sin ; the day of the Spirit's coming will be to
Cornelius the day of conquest — and with all his
might he longs for it. But he must be treated
as a soldier ; he must be made to pass through
a soldier's sacrifice. The conquest might come
at once ; but that would not be the revelation

308 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
to a soldier. God must speak to Cornelius in
his own language — and that language is mili
tary sacrifice. Instead of reaching his goal in
a moment, let him wait for it anxious days,
march for it long miles, weave for it arduous
plans. Let him for the sake of it submit to
the temporary loss of two of his servants. Let
him for a time dispense with the services of
his favourite attendant — a soldier who knows
his special wants and when to meet them.
Let him, above all, sink his pride. Proud
Roman as he was, representative of Roman
conquest as he was, let him bow the knee to
one who had been a fisherman of Galilee and
acknowledge that in matters spiritual the
peasant was his liege lord. I think there is
something grandly appropriate in the delay
imposed on the soldier Cornelius.
But there is, I think, a third element in
military life which constitutes a ground for
the appropriateness of the delay. The life of
the soldier, whether he means it or not, is a
vicarious one ; it is lived for the sake of others.
A man may live sacrificially and yet may live

CORNELIUS THE TRANSPLANTED 309
purely for himself. The artist may scorn
delights and spend laborious days, yet he may
be animated by a motive essentially selfish —
the achieving of some work that will perfect
his fame. But the average soldier can have
no such motive. To a man of the ranks, even
to a man, like Cornelius, a little above the
ranks, the chance of winning distinction is
infinitesimally small ; and the pay is not
worth striving for. There is an elimination
of all personal feeling — even the feeling of
enmity. The man is at war with something
he does not hate. He is fighting the battle of
another— his country. Voluntarily or involun
tarily, it is for her he makes long marches, it
is for her he bears the drought and the famine,
it is for her he endures privation and weari
ness, it is for her he dares the path of death
and braves the mutilation of life and limb.
The soldier, whether he knows it or not,
whether he accedes to it or not, is working for
another's joy.
So, when Christianity comes to Cor
nelius it appeals to this fact of the military

3io THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
experience. It bids him connect his con
version, not with his own glory, but with the
glory of others. It tells him to calculate,
not how happy he will be, but how many
people he will make happy. And think for
a moment how beautifully this purpose is
achieved. Cornelius submitted to a process
which robbed him of all glory. He took a
back seat. He subsided into the place of a
passive recipient. He gave the post of action
to his servants, to his private attendant, to
the Christians at Joppa, above all to Simon
Peter. It was to enlarge Peter, not to en
large himself, that Cornelius was directed to
the Christian apostle. Cornelius might have
reached the kingdom at a bound ; but Peter
would have felt sore that a man should mount
to heaven without circumcision. The Divine
Voice said : ' There must be no soreness on this
birthday. I must first liberalise Peter — must
stoop to win his approval. I must send him
up to the roof of the tanner's house at Joppa.
I must tell him to look forth upon the sea —
that sea on which rested the eyes of my

CORNELIUS THE TRANSPLANTED 311
prophet Jonah. And when he remembers
Jonah he will remember Nineveh. He will
remember how even on the heathen city my
compassion failed not to fall — though circum
cision was not there, though temple was not
there, though rite of Jewish worship was not
there. He will remember and he will say,
" What God has cleansed let me not call un
clean ! " And then I shall cry to Peter, " Come
thyself, and cure Cornelius ! " Cornelius needs
him not; but he sadly needs Cornelius. He
wants to be broadened, deepened, heightened ;
I shall make him put his hand upon the Gentile
and speak peace. For the sake of another's joy
Cornelius may well consent to take a lower
room.' Let me now revert to the statement that the
design of this picture is to exhibit the trans
planting of a soldier — in other words, that it is
intended to represent the grafting of military
qualities into the Church of Christ. At first
sight this is the last kind of transference which
could have been thought an object of desire.
We can understand very well how the qualities

312 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
of the domestic servant should be carried over
into the many mansions of the Father's house,
for the qualities of the domestic servant are,
even in the houses of men, Divine virtues —
gifts of the grace of God. Obedience to duty,
fidelity, honesty, integrity, truthfulness, justice,
the absence of self-interest and of eye-service —
these are the qualities which mark the good
servant in the secular home, and these are the
qualities which stamp the good servant in the
household of faith. Christianity, as much as
life, is a state of dependence ; and the form
of a servant is required for both. But war —
where does that find place in the precepts of
Christ ! Is He not the Prince of Peace ! Was
not ' Peace ' the song over His cradle and the
sigh of His last farewell ! Were not the
makers of peace to be called in a special sense
the children of His Father! Where is there
room for Cornelius here — for the soldier Cor
nelius ! There is room for the man ; but must
he not lay aside his sword and his helmet
when he enters the kingdom of Christ!
Surely the red flowers of man's garden will

CORNELIUS THE TRANSPLANTED 313
not be transplanted into the Garden of the
Lord! Yes, they must and they shall. The demand
for such transplanting has been loud through
all the Christian ages. Why did the Medieval
Church initiate orders of sacred knighthood —
knights of the temple, knights of St. Mary,
knights of St. John? It was because the
Medieval Church wanted a section of her
sons to be soldiers in spirit and to transfer
the qualities of war into the paths of peace.
Why has our modern Christianity instituted a
Salvation Army? It is because Cornelius is
still needed among the Christians — because in
peace as well as in war there are wrongs that
await redressing. Why does our twentieth
century inaugurate in every town a Boys'
\Brigade ? It is because we want Cornelius in
the midst of us. It is because we desire that
from an early age our youthful generation
should learn to associate religion with man
liness, to connect the cross of Christ with all
that is brave and heroic and noble, and to
plant in civil life those very seeds which in

314 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
the sphere of the warrior made for military
glory. The truth is, what Christian civilisation
needs in a time of peace is pre-eminently the
presence of Cornelius — the infusion of a mili
tary element. We are apt to be ashamed in
peace of that which we laud in war. In men
on the road to battle we admire abstinence,
temperance, caution, care of bodily health, the
avoidance of any temptation to any form of
physical excess. We count this manly ; and
why? Because the men are under military
orders. But when we see these qualities in
time of peace we are apt to call them woman
ish ; and why ? Because then the men are not
supposed to be under military orders, but to
be simply timorous, nervous, frightened. Yet,
from the Christian point of view, this is a
mistake. The man is as truly on the march
in peace as in war, and as truly under orders.
We want him to feel that, We want him to
realise that in the common things of life he is
on soldier's duty — bound by a tie of honour,
pledged by an oath of fealty, dedicated to the

CORNELIUS THE TRANSPLANTED 315
service of a government whose rule is over all
nations. 'They shall beat their swords into
ploughshares and their spears into pruning-
hooks' are the words in which is proclaimed
the advent of the Prince of Peace. But even
in that proclamation there is a tribute paid to
the soldier. The old warlike material is not to
be thrown away ; it is the sword that is to be
come the ploughshare, it is the spear that is to be
made the pruning-hook. Cornelius the soldier
is not to be annihilated in the resurrection of
Cornelius the man. As he ascends in his fiery
chariot the military mantle is not to drop
from him. It is to be carried into the new
kingdom, to be worn in the new world, to be
illustrated in the new life. The sacrificial
spirit which animates the deeds of war is to be
displayed again in the fields of peace.
As he enters the portals of the Christian
life Cornelius fades from our view ; his form
is lost in the crowd, and we see him no more.
But though in visible presence he appears not,
he reappears in metaphor. Cornelius repre
sents and foreshadows the conquest of Rome

3i6 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
by Christ. Viewed in this typical aspect, we
do meet him again. Nearly three centuries
after, we see his conversion repeated in the
conversion by Christianity of the empire
itself. There stands Cornelius once more —
calling on Peter to help him ! There he
stands — wielding the military sceptre, but
surrendering the sceptre of the heart ! There
he stands — embodying in converted Rome a
union of his own three experiences ! His
original Paganism is there — heathen rites are
baptised into Christian worship. His subse
quent Judaism is there — a God is recognised
who is holy but hard to be entreated, flawless
but far away. His final Christianity is there
— the cross has become the watchword of
all life and the symbol of all power. And
the retention of his soldier-heart is there^-
with the garment of Christ Rome has put on
a fresh military robe. She has increased her
fearlessness ; she has augmented her forti
tude ; she has strengthened her power of
endurance ; she has deepened her determina
tion ; she has quickened her loyalty ; she has

CORNELIUS THE TRANSPLANTED 317
fanned her enthusiasm ; she has sharpened her
sense of duty ; she has almost created her
spirit of chivalry. The sword has survived
in the ploughshare, the spear in the pruning-
hook.

T ORD, fit me for the ranks of Thine
¦'— ' army! Put Thy best robe upon me
— the soldier's robe ! Give me Thy truly
military spirit — the spirit that casteth out
fear — love ! Fit me for the times of waiting !
I am more afraid of the silence than the
conflict. Often have I said in the old time,
' If I could get away from the world, I could
put off my armour.' Often have I thought,
' If I could leave the scenes of temptation
and could rest in some quiet, secluded spot,
I might lay aside the soldier's garb.' And
lo! when I tried it, I found that I must
add to my armour. I found that the scene
of temptation is not outside of me but within
me, that the battlefield is the silent field. I
need Thee most, my Father, when I am meet-

3i8 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
ing with myself. I could perform a sacrifice
amid the crowd because I feel that the crowd
would applaud me for it. But when Thou
hast sent the multitude away, when there
are no spectators of my struggle, when the
flags wave not, the banners stream not, the
trumpets blow not, when I am alone in the
field with my own will, it is then I need Thine
armour, O my God. It is comparatively
easy to wrestle after daybreak, for the day
break distracts me from myself. But before
the day breaks, I am alone — alone with my
self, alone with my erring soul. Arm me, O
Lord, arm me for the great battle where there
fights but one ! Give me a sword for the
solitude, a spear for the silence, a helmet for
the hermitage, a breastplate for the breathless
air! Quicken me for the quiet, fortify me
for the fireside, nerve me for the night,
strengthen me for the study, warm me for
the woodland ramble, inspire me for the
inland calm ! ' Let me wear my armour in
life's placid hour !

CHAPTER XV
TIMOTHY THE DISCIPLINED
There are some who have professed to read
the character by the handwriting. In the case
of Timothy we have a task more difficult
still ; it is to read the character of one man by
the handwriting of another. Nearly all we
can gather of the inner life of Timothy is
wrapped up within two brief letters addressed
to him by Paul. They are really a minis
terial charge containing practical advices and
cautions to Timothy on his appointment to
the pastorate of the Church at Ephesus. Are
we entitled to take these advices and cautions
as indicating Paul's sense of Timothy's weak
points ? I think we are. When Paul writes
a letter it is always a characteristic letter —
characteristic, I mean, of the person or
319

320 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
persons written to. When he writes to the
residents in Rome, he exhibits Christ as ' the
power unto salvation' — and why? Because
the dweller in that military city was apt to
think Christianity a form of weakness. When
he writes to the Corinthians, he exhibits
Christ as wisdom — and why? Because to
the Greek Christianity appeared foolishness.
When he writes to the Galatians, he tells them
to be not weary in well-doing — and why?
Because they had revealed themselves as
fickle. When he writes to Philemon, it is to
guide him in a personal affair — an affair in
which he had temptation to show harshness.
Nay, when he writes to Timothy himself on
a physical matter, his advice is professedly
dictated by a sense of Timothy's infirmity —
' Take a little wine for your stomach's sake.'
I conclude therefore that, as the physical
advice was prompted by Paul's knowledge of
a physical weakness, the mental advice was
prompted by his knowledge of a mental weak
ness ; and I feel authorised to use these letters
as a biographical mirror in which the secrets

TIMOTHY THE DISCIPLINED 321
of the life are revealed and the heart of the
man is spread out before us.
Timothy could have started life with the
motto, ' Two worlds are mine.' He was born
probably at Lystra — a city of Lycaonia.
Within him was the blood of two opposite
heredities. His mother Eunice and his grand
mother Lois were Jewish Christians of the most
pious and devoted type. That stream of
heredity from the blood of Israel was, how
ever, counteracted by another stream. If his
mother was a Jew, his father was a Greek —
of what religious persuasion we know not.
Timothy was therefore the child of opposite
worlds, and it was inevitable that they should
strive within him. Israel and Greece were
essentially opposed currents. Their difference
lay deeper than any religious doctrine ; it was
constituted by their view of life. The Jew
aimed at the repression of nature ; the object
of the Greek was to give nature full play. The
Jew encouraged the sense of obligation ; the
Greek fostered the thought of spontaneity.
The Jew looked upon the universe with awe ;
X

322 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
the Greek viewed it as a pleasure-ground. The
Jew uncovered his head in the presence of
Divine mysteries ; the Greek made them
subjects of daring speculation. It was evident
that the main danger to Timothy lay on the
Greek side. Where Judaism embraced Chris
tianity it was sternly Christian ; where Greece
favoured Christianity its affection was apt to
be divided. Probably in the mind of the father
Christianity had not passed the stage of a mere
favourable recognition. The age of 'many
gods' was past; but the age of 'many systems'
had taken its place, and the father of Timothy
in all likelihood leant towards each in turn. It
was not altogether a propitious nest for the
maturing of a steady wing.
In the home, however, the mother seems to
have had her own way. She brought up the
child in the faith of Christ and under the
influence of her pious example. He seems to
have been early put to active service in the
cause of Christianity. When Paul on his
missionary journey came to Lystra and first
saw him, he was exceedingly young; yet he

TIMOTHY THE DISCIPLINED 323
was already talked of as a helper in the work.
Paul was greatly struck with him. He dis
cerned the promise and the potency of a high
and useful life which was worth fostering into
bloom. He resolved to train him under his
own eye. Doubtless he recognised the danger
of the counteracting Greek current in his
blood and in his home, and thought the
removal from his home might modify the
action of his blood. Accordingly, he took
Timothy with him. He took him as a pupil
— one to be trained for higher service. But
when next we meet him he is no longer Paul's
pupil ; he is his companion. He has not indeed
entered into the place of partnership vacated
by Barnabas. It was rather an association of
love than of business, and that kind of love
which bridges the separation of those divided
by a gulf of years. The older man felt himself
a protector ; the younger clung to his support.
Paul realised that he had adopted this youth,
become sponsor for him in the eye of heaven.
He felt that he was responsible for his eternal
welfare — that he had to supply the place which

324 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
the good mother had filled and which the in
different father ought to have filled. A flower
had been committed to him in the Garden of
the Lord ; that flower he had to water every
morning and nurture every day.
Was there a possibility that the relation of
Paul and Timothy might ever be reversed —
that Timothy might become the protector and
Paul the recipient? There would have been,
but for one circumstance. It was this — Paul
was never able to realise that Timothy was
growing older. He insisted on always viewing
him as the lad he met in Lystra. On that
occasion Timothy was probably about twenty-
years of age. That was an exceedingly young
man to have gained a local reputation among
the Christians ; and we could have understood
Paul saying at that time, ' Let no man despise
thy youth.' But he says it some fifteen years
afterwards — when Timothy must have passed
youth's despicable stage. The words were
spoken near the end of Paul's life. He had
gone through most of his crisis-moments. He
had been imprisoned in Cassarea. He had

TIMOTHY THE DISCIPLINED 325
made his appeal to Caesar. He had been
shipwrecked on his voyage to Rome. He
had been acquitted by a Roman tribunal.
He had resumed his missionary labours, and,
as a final act in them, he had ordained
Timothy to the Church of Ephesus.- He had
returned to Rome. He had been imprisoned
once more — in that dungeon from which he
was only to issue through the gate of death.
It was from that final captivity that he wrote
his pastoral counsels to his friend of long years.
And it is then most of all that he seems to
forget the years. He sees Timothy, not as he
is, but as he was. He ignores the fifteen
winters whose storms have swept across his
brow and whose chills have furrowed his
cheek. He sees him in his home at Lystra
in all the freshness of life's morning. He sees
him between two fires — the fire of devotion to
his mother and the fire of admiration for his
father. He sees the struggle of his young
heart between the Jew and the Greek — be
tween the surrender of will and the specula
tion of intellect. He feels that the same

326 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
conflict is raging in the world still — nowhere
more than at Ephesus, and that the whole
current must be breasted by an inexperienced
boy. In words which are pathetic in their
loss of the sense of time he cries, 'Let no
man despise thy youth.'
But have we never seen anything like this out
side of the New Testament ! Is it not a matter
of daily observation ! Do we not know that
those who have been the guardians of the young
find it very hard to realise their adolescence !
I knew an elderly woman who always spoke of
her brothers as ' these boys.' There was not
one of them under fifty years of age ; but she
had been as a mother to them in youth and
she realised not that their youth was gone. It
is always the tendency of love to clothe its
object with permanence. It is told of St. John
that, when an old man, he stood in the streets
of Ephesus and cried, ' Little children, love
one another ! ' Probably the ' little children '
were nearly as old as himself; but they had
been brought up as pupils in his Bible-class
and he felt to them as a father. His love was

TIMOTHY THE DISCIPLINED 327
too strong to observe the growing shadow on
the dial ; it saw the objects of its morning in
the same perpetual youth as that in which the
Christian saw his Christ — unchanged yester
day and to-day and for ever. Paul, too, had
an illusion in the streets of Ephesus; he
took a man to be a boy. It was love's cry for
permanence. It was the protest of the heart
for the continuance of the morning. It was
the desire of the spirit that time should write
no wrinkle on the azure brow of that sea of
life on which he had sailed long years ago.
Timothy, then, stood before the eye of Paul
in the garb of a young man. Paul felt that he
wanted discipline — that the flower within him
must be cultivated. It was not learning he
needed ; it was pruning. There are men whose
temptation comes from their ignorance ; the
dangers of Timothy came from his knowledge,
his culture, his intellectual development. The
spirit of Greece was in him, and the spirit of
Greece was the spirit of independent thought.
Paul dearly loved to think of him as still
young ; but he felt that his Greek blood made

328 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
youth a special danger. It was to youth that
the seductions of Greece peculiarly appealed.
Rome's muscular vigour spoke to manhood ;
Judea's restraining influence spoke to middle
age; but Greece with her morning radiance
addressed the spirit of youth and found her
most powerful votaries in the children of the
spring. Let me now proceed to indicate some of
those weak points of Timothy's youth which
Paul by an act of imagination transferred
to his riper age. You will find that they
will open up to every man a chapter of
autobiography and that the weak points of
young Timothy are the weak points which
are apt to beset the youth of all men.
Now, Paul is very emphatic as to the charge
which in importance he would place first. It
is not the charge which we should expect
him to place first. If we were addressing one
whom we thought of as a young man and
whom we believed to be under special tempta
tion, we should begin by warning him against
flagrant sins — against the excesses of the wine-

TIMOTHY THE DISCIPLINED 329
cup, the excesses of the gaming-table, the
excesses of human passion. Paul does not
start with any of these ; he tells Timothy
first and foremost to cherish a reverent spirit
towards those in authority ! Is not this a
strange advice to put in the front ground of a
young man's discipline. I do not think so.
I think it would be the advice which in actual
youth Timothy first needed. What is the root
of youth's dangers ? It is the resistance to
authority. I do not mean the resistance to
any particular authority, but to the principle
of authority itself. A young man tends to
love the fruit because it is forbidden. The
fruit in itself is often distasteful to him.
Command young Adam to climb the tree of
knowledge, and he will probably refuse ; forbid
him, and that tree will become an object of
desire. Youth oftener goes wrong from a false
ideal of manliness than from any love of vice.
To be free, to be independent, to do what one
likes, to reveal the magnificent example of ' I
don't care,' to be pointed out as a bold, reckless
spirit that fears not the face of man — that is

330 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
the ideal which swims before the eye of youth
and draws it into all perils.
When Paul first met Timothy everything in
the young man's blood tempted to the resist
ance of authority. His youth tempted him,
for youth loves to feel itself free. His Greek
descent tempted him, for Greece had ever
aspired to be free. And, strange to say, it
must be added that his Christianity itself
tempted him. It sounds curious to hear Paul
exhort Timothy to pray for kings. We should
have thought the charge would be, ' Pray for
the poor and destitute.' But we forget that by
the early Christian it was the kings, and not
the destitute, who were apt to be neglected.
The typical primitive Christian looked down
upon his temporal rulers. He held that the
humble classes were the privileged classes.
What he extended to the rich was at most
only a patronage. It was not natural that he
should pray first for kings. He was a subject of
no king but one — the Lord Jesus. The rulers
of the world were in possession of a mock
dignity — a dignity which belonged, not to

TIMOTHY THE DISCIPLINED 331
them, but to Him. Why should he pray for
their wise governing ! Was not their govern
ment, whether wise or unwise, an obstacle in
the march of the King of kings ! Had not he
a higher allegiance — the allegiance to another
world, to a coming world, to a world before
whose blaze of glory all the thrones and prin
cipalities and powers of earth must wither
away ! The kings of the nations might take
tribute from his hand; they could get no
tribute from his soul.
So in all likelihood thought young Timothy
in the days when Paul first met him ; and Paul
transfers his youth to his riper years. He warns
him that he is on a quicksand. He tells him
to dismiss his contempt for the higher seats of
this world. He tells him that, whether they
know it or not, the rulers of earth are God's
ministers. He tells him that, whether they
know it or not, they are responsible for the
bearing of a great burden. He tells him that,
by reason of this burden, they are objects not
for anger but for reverent commiseration —
that they have more need to be prayed for

332 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
than the poor and destitute. He bids him
pray for them first of all ; he bids him teach
his people to pray for them. It is a new call
to sympathy. Hitherto sympathy has been
asked to descend the ladder; it is now asked
to go up — to extend its charity to the high
places of the earth, to enter into the troubles
of those who sit in the upper room.
Let me pass now to a second advice given
by Paul to Timothy, or rather to a combina
tion of two advices often supposed to be
contradictory. He virtually tells him to avoid
two kinds of fast living — the fastness of brain
and the fastness of brainlessness. On the
one hand he is very anxious that as a pastor
he should avoid matters of intellectual specu
lation. On the other he is equally solicitous
that he should not fritter away intellect alto
gether by living for trivialities and frivolities —
' Flee youthful desires ! ' he says. I have said
that these two dangers seem opposite — the
one is ozxzr-thought, the other is thoughtless
ness. We think of the former as a slow and
quiet life, of the latter as a life of fastness.

TIMOTHY THE DISCIPLINED 333
The truth is, they are both fast, and may be
both equally fast. What do we mean by
fastness? Simply that too many sensations
are being crowded together in a small space
and in a short time. Physically speaking, it
matters not what the sensation be. You may
be a student living far from the works and
ways of men, dwelling in seclusion and soli
tude, abstaining from the whole round of
worldly pleasure, never seen at fancy fete or
fashionable ball, and yet you may be living as
fast a life as if you were spending your days
in a whirl of gaiety. It is the number and
the rapidity of your sensations, and not their
moral character, that determine the rate at
which you are travelling.
Now, it is more than likely that Timothy
in his young days was under both of these
temptations. Does it seem to us that both
could not exist in the same mind — that the one
would serve as a counteraction to the other.
We forget that this is the very thing which
makes their existence in one mind possible.
Who, according to the Jewish Scriptures, is

334 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
the man most taken up with the frivolities of
life ? Of all people, it is Solomon — the pro
found student, the deep scholar, the specula
tive thinker, the man who filled the world
with the fame of his wisdom ! I used to
wonder at the incongruous combination. I
see now that it is true to human nature. The
typical Solomon is ever the most in danger
of becoming frivolous. He needs a reaction.
His mind has been on the wing round the
stars ; it will by and by be on the wing round
the candle. He has been revolving the
problems of eternity ; he will before long
revolve in the dance of the hour. It is the
very cry for a counteracting influence that
drives him from fervour into frivolity.
You will observe where Paul places frivolity;
it is in the ' desires.' I do not suppose he was
in the least afraid of Timothy's outward morals;
I am quite sure he had no cause to be. But
Paul did not think this a sufficient ground of
safety. If he had been told of Timothy's
external purity, he would still have cried,
' Flee youthful desires ! ' The frivolous man

TIMOTHY THE DISCIPLINED 335
was to Paul the man who desired frivolous
things. The fast man in moral life was he
whose heart was crowded with images of
vanity and with forms of sensual mould. The
contact which Paul feared for Timothy was an
inward contact. He dreaded no company for
a man like the company of his own unre-
generate heart ; there was his place of tempta
tion, there was his scene of danger. The
frivolities of life were in each man's soul,
and to cherish these in the soul was already
to yield to temptation.
I will mention one other advice of Paul to
Timothy — more directly pastoral than those
preceding, yet dictated like these by the
apostle's memory of the pupil's youth. He
tells him to be a workman 'rightly dividing
the word of truth.' The great temptation of
young ministers is to view the word of truth
in a single aspect. Paul says it ought to be
' divided ' — given out in portions according to
the needs of the recipient. The youthful
pastor is apt to address perpetually one class.
One such pastor has a philosophic cast ;

336 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
another is evangelical ; a third is purely
practical — so we often sum up the special
qualities of the preacher. Paul would say
that each of the three was in fault through
not ' dividing ' the word of truth. He would
say that one man should combine them all.
He will probably have in his congregation
representatives of all. The philosopher will
be there — studying the mysteries of being.
The evangelical will be there — inquiring the
way of salvation. The moralist will be there
— seeking the path of duty. Paul would say,
'Divide the word of truth — speak to each in
turn.' To him the pastoral life is a sacrificial
life in which a man ought to put himself in
sympathy with the limits of his congregation
— to conceive his subject, not as it appears
to him, but as it must appear to different
modes of mind. He must empty himself of
his own predilections — must think with the
thoughts of others. He must see deeply
with the student, simply with the children,
practically with the workers and toilers. He
must give to each, not his own favourite

TIMOTHY THE DISCIPLINED 337
portion, but the portion to which each is
suited. He must not descant on Dives and
Lazarus at the bedside of an invalid, nor
expound the case of the ten virgins to a
penitent seeking rest. He must be appro
priate — which literally means, he must give
to every one his own. That is the right
' dividing ' of the word of truth.
Now, Paul may have observed in Timothy's
youth a tendency to this one - sidedness.
There was everything to favour its existence.
The Greek blood within him made for it in
one direction ; the Jewish blood within him
made for it in another. The spirit of youth
itself favoured it. Youth is ever apt to be one
sided, and therefore inappropriate. Young
people tend to say the thing unsuited to a
particular occasion, and they do so simply
because they are one-sided. The cure for
them, the cure for Timothy, the cure for all
of us, is Christianity — the power to stand in
the place of another. That is what makes the
religion of Christ differ alike from the Gentile
and the Jew ; it can incorporate itself in the
Y

338 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
sympathies of both. It can divide a portion
of the soul between either combatant, and
therefore can beat with the heart of each.
The imitation of Christ is the imitation of
one who emptied himself, who clothed himself
in the likeness of others, who strove to live
in the experience of those beneath him. Only
in the effort to follow this life can man avoid
the partialities of the Gentile and the Jew.
There is one little point to which I should
like to direct attention. Did you ever ask
yourself why it is that before administer
ing this discipline to Timothy Paul himself
assumes such a humble attitude ? Instead of
opening with a tone of authority, he begins his
letter by telling Timothy what a miserable
creature he himself had been — a blasphemer,
a persecutor, an injurer of men, a man who for
his present position was entirely indebted to
the mercy of God. And can you fail to see
why Paul begins by taking the lowest room ?
It was in accordance with his own sublime
exhortation, ' If a man be overtaken in a fault,
restore such a one in the spirit of meekness.'

TIMOTHY THE DISCIPLINED 339
He means, in other words, 'Do not address
him from a lordly height ; let him see that you
too have tripped in your day.' That is what
Paul wanted Timothy to see. He did not
wish the pupil to look upon him as a demi
god. He knew that the basis of all teaching
is sympathy, and that sympathy demands a
common experience. He comes to Timothy,
not in his latest robes, but in his original
rags. He speaks to him, not from the top
of the ladder, but from its base. He pleads
with him, not as one who was born to angelic
purity and has never breathed the air of evil,
but as one who has known corruption, who has
felt temptation, who has touched sin, who has
learned the pain of struggle, and who even
now is unable to ascribe his salvation to any
merit of his own. The discipline from such
a man has strength, but no sting.

LORD, when I go to discipline my brother-
man, let me remember his environment !
Let me remember Timothy's youth, and that

340 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
the passions of youth are strong ! Let me
remember his Greek blood that cries for
novelty in every form — that flies to-day on the
wings of fancy, to-morrow on the pinions of
pleasure ! Let me remember his Pagan in
fluences, and how many voices in the Garden
urge him to climb the tree ! Let me re
member, above all, my own youth, my own
heredity, my own first surroundings ! When
I visit my erring brother, let me put on my
garment of yesterday! Let me not go to
him wearing that best robe which Thou hast
brought forth for me, and displaying that
bright ring which claims me as Thy child!
Let me fold Thy fair garment and lay it by ;
let me take off Thy bright ring and put it
aside ! Bring me the mean attire of my
morning! Bring me the squalid garb in
which first I met Thee ! Bring me the
tattered rags in which of old I stood before
Thy door ! I will go to my brother, clothed
in the likeness of sinful flesh. I will go to him
with ringless hands, with shoeless feet, with
prideless gait. I will go to him and say, ' I

TIMOTHY THE DISCIPLINED 341
come to thee from thine own valley — from
humiliation kindred to thine. I too have been
among the swine. I too have been a child
of the famine. I too have been content to
feed on the husks for a time. By no merit
of mine am I saved ; while I was yet afar off
my Father saw me. Receive thy hope from
me, thy comfort from me, thine example from
me ! Learn from my rags thy possible riches !
See in my meanness thy possible majesty !
Behold in my lowliness thy possible ladder !
Read in my corruption thy possible crown !
So, on the stepping-stones of my dead self,
may'st thou rise to higher things.'

CHAPTER XVI
PAUL THE ILLUMINATED
In the chapters on Barnabas, Mark, and
Timothy I have alluded to many of the out
ward incidents in the life of Paul. I do not
intend to traverse these lines again. I do not
intend to traverse any historical lines. And
for this reason : The difference between Paul
and the other figures of the Gallery is not an
outward difference. If you look at him merely
in the external acts of his life, you will find
nothing that marks him out as a man of unique
experience. I do not know of any historical
fact in Paul's experience which I am not pre
pared to parallel with the experience of those
already considered. Did Paul reject Christ ;
so, for a moment, did Peter. Did Paul
miraculously escape from prison ; so also
did Peter. Did Paul suffer shipwreck ; so, to

PAUL THE ILLUMINATED 343
an equal extent, did Peter. Did Paul turn a
somersault; so did John. Did Paul write
compositions of the most divers kinds ; so did
John. Did Paul receive a vision of heavenly
things ; so did John. Was Paul suddenly con
vinced of the power of Jesus ; so was Thomas.
I could multiply parallels almost indefinitely
to show that the outward life of the Gentile
apostle is not essentially distinct from the
lives of his fellow-Christians. What distin
guishes Paul is an experience from within — an
illumination from the spirit, the rising of an
inner sun. It is the fact that this man after
conversion did the same kind of work which
he had been doing before, and that yet by an
added light in his soul he found it to be wholly
new. His work as Saul of Tarsus was the
building of a temple ; his work as Paul the
Apostle was the building of a temple too.
Yet, what he felt was not uniformity but
difference, contrast, revolution. Outwardly
he was engaged in the old things ; but in
the very act he was constrained to cry, ' Old
things are passed away.' Whence came this

344 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
paradox? From what he himself calls a
shining in the heart. The change was in the
region of the spirit. Sun and moon and stars
remained the same; mountain, river, and
stream abode in their wonted place ; but
within his soul a new presence had arisen,
and by its potency and power every object of
his past was transformed and glorified.
The crisis hour of Paul's life was his
transition from Judaism into Christianity.
What was that transition ? We are so familiar
with the fact that we are apt to forget what it
represents. What is the spiritual difference
between the Jew and the Christian ? It is
easy to state the doctrinal difference ; but that
of the spirit lies deeper. Let me try to exhibit
the contrast in the form of a little parable.
A certain father had two boys whom he was
very desirous to bring up good. He thought
this would best be accomplished by inuring
them to a habit of life. Accordingly, he made
a proposal to them. He promised to give
each of them a penny for every hour of the
day in which they should abstain from doing

PAUL THE ILLUMINATED 345
any bad action. As the sleeping hours were
-inevitably included in such a bargain, it was
really an offer to each of two shillings a day
for total abstinence from wicked deeds. The
elder brother accepted the proposal with
alacrity ; the younger refused — he preferred
his freedom. The elder brother got the name
of being virtuous. He did not, indeed,
uniformly make his two shillings, for there
was always some hour of some day in which
he transgressed ; but out of each day he always
gathered something. The younger, on the other
hand, was deemed reckless, careless, godless ;
hardly an hour passed in which he had not his
hand in something wrong. The one brother
was called the man of God, the other the man
of Satan.
But in process of time a thing happened
which made one section of the community
change its mind. The brothers chanced one
day to pass a picture in a shop window — it was
that of a man walking through the scenes of
a malignant pestilence in the sheer hope of
alleviating human pain. The elder brother

346 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
looked at the picture with indifference. The
younger gazed, lifted up his hands and
cried, ' I believe in that man ; that is the
man I should like to serve, should like to
follow, should like to imitate.' And the by
stander said : 'It is this younger brother
that deserves the prize. Incorrect as his
life comparatively is, though there is not an
hour in which he does not commit faults to
which his brother is a stranger, he has yet
reached in one thought, in one aspiration, in
one admiring look, a height which through all
the laborious days that brother has never
climbed.' Now, the elder brother of this parable is the
Jew ; the younger is the Christian. The former
makes the attempt to count his deeds of
abstinence. The latter keeps no reckoning of
his deeds ; but in his room there hangs a
picture of surpassing beauty — a picture he has
bought and on which he gazes continually ; it
is the description of an act of love by which a
Divine spirit gave his life for the world. The
difference between the Jew and the Christian is

PAUL THE ILLUMINATED 347
the difference between the tied hand and the
winged mind. It is quite possible that the
force of outward law may keep a man all his
life from injuring his neighbour; yet such a
man will be no nearer to the beauties of holi
ness than had he been living in a state of open
war. But suppose that, instead of tying his
hands, you liberated his heart, suppose that,
instead of paralysing him with fear, you
quickened him with a sense of beauty, suppose
that you confronted him, not with the penalties
of doing harm, but with a picture of doing
good, you would give him in a moment the
door of access into a purity which all the
years of his mere moral abstinence have
failed to reveal to his sight. The picture on
which he would look would be beyond his
present strength ; and he would know it to
be so. But none the less it would be the true
measure of the man, the prophecy of his
coming self, the foreshadowing of that height
which he is destined to win.
Let us return for a moment to the parable
of the two boys. I have indicated that the

348 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
bystanders take different sides. Some go with
the elder brother who keeps the laborious
hours ; others adhere to the younger who
gazes on the beautiful picture. Now, Paul
at first sided with the former class. He
thought that the promised sum ought to be
given to the boy who made himself a drudge.
He was very angry with the seductive picture
which had seemed to open up a short and
easy way. He was so angry that he could not
keep away from it. He wanted to see where
its power of seduction lay — to study it that he
might refute it. So he went daily to look at
the picture, and gazed on it with an adverse
eye. But, as he looked, there happened a
strange thing — the picture crept into his soul.
He had sought to find the secret of its power
with the view of refuting it. He did find the
secret of its power ; but it refuted him. The
gaze of anger was transmuted into a gaze of
rapture. He was conquered by the spectacle
of moral purity. He saw a spotless soul walk
ing amid the dread pestilence of sin — treading
the infected streets, touching the unclean

PAUL THE ILLUMINATED 349
garments, breathing the deadly vapours, nurs
ing the stricken patients, haunting the scenes
of horror from which the world had fled, and
at last sinking exhausted by the wayside
and purchasing the life of others by the
sacrifice of his own. All this Paul saw, and
for the first time there woke within him a
sense of what sin really was, what purity
really was, what the service of God really was.
In one instant he rose far above all the steps
he had been climbing for years. By one
thought, by one vision, by one sight of an
ideal man, he reached a height which a
thousand acts had failed to win. He said :
' I believe in that man — he expresses all that
I should like to be. Will not this be God's
measure of me, God's estimate of me, the
standard of judgment by which God will see
my capacities for good ! Will He not test me
for the time to come, not by what I am, but
by what I wish to be ! '
This was the moment of Paul's illumination.
It was the moment in which there entered into
his soul the one love of his life — the only

350 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
passion which ever stirred his heart. Christ
has appealed to men in many ways — some
times in fear, sometimes in reverence, some
times in speculation, sometimes in the sense
of protection. To Paul He is exclusively an
object of love. Every other phase of thought
is absorbed in that one. He tells us so
himself. In that magnificent hymn of his
which will live as long as the Christian ages,
he sings not only the everlastingness but the
predominance of love. He sings how in his
own experience all virtues have melted into
love — how faith has faded into its certainty,
how prophecy has died in its fulfilment, how
knowledge has yielded to its light. The in
ward history of Paul is the history of his love
— the history of that process by which love
filled all things.1 This, from an artistic point
of view, is the real interest of the apostle's
life. His missionary journeys interest the
evangelist, his doctrinal system attracts the

1 Love came to Paul as self-enlightenment, to John as self-
surrender ; Paul never needed self-surrender — at no time did
he live for himself.

PAUL THE ILLUMINATED 351
theologian ; but what distinguishes him to
the eye of the artist is that gradual process
of illumination through which, step by step
and sphere by sphere, every part of the
universe was lit up, until the world became
to him 'the fulness of Him that filleth all
in all'
I have spoken of Paul's illumination as a
gradual process. I should like to explain
what I mean by this. I do not think that
after his conversion Paul ever changed his
mind on a matter of doctrine — his faith in
Christ was as strong at the beginning as it
was at the end. Nor do I think that Paul's
actual love for Christ went through any
modification ; it began perhaps unconsciously,
and was revealed to himself suddenly, but
from that time I think it never varied. When
I speak, however, of a gradual process in Paul,
I mean, not an enlargement of his love, but
an enlargement of its sphere. These two
things are quite distinct. A child's love for
his father may be perfect without being
perfectly illuminating. It may be an isolated

352 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
and isolating love — may keep him from see
ing the beauty and acknowledging the real
attractions of the other persons around him.
Illumination is not the heating but the light
ing process. Paul's love to Christ was as
perfect when he wrote to the Thessalonians
as when he penned his letters to Timothy ;
but it was less far-seeing, or, to speak more
accurately, it shed less light upon surround
ing things. The triumph of love is not the
amount of its passion ; it is the number of
things which it irradiates. The development
of Paul is not a deepening of conviction, not
a progress in doctrine, not an intensifying of
emotion, not a growth in the spirit of sacrifice ;
it is an enlargement of the sphere of love.
He says himself that his Christ was destined
to fill all things within his universe. And
so He was ; but the process was not an
instantaneous one. Paul did not at once see
all things subject to Him. At first his Christ
seemed to dwell apart from the world and
to be sharply divided from the world. Step
by step the barriers were broken down, and,

PAUL THE ILLUMINATED 353
as each barrier fell, the light ran over.
Field was added to field where the Divine
Presence could walk in the cool of the day,
till, in the fulness of Paul's experience, the
world on every side was 'bound by gold
chains about the feet of God.'
What is the common process of love's
enlargement ? Take a human love ; take
what we generally term romantic love. What
are the stages through which it is wont to
pass? I think there are four. At first it is
a hope — something to be realised to-morrow.
Then it is a present possession, but reserved
as yet only for garden hours when we are
free from the bustle of the crowd. By and
by its range is widened — it becomes a stimulus
for the great duties of life ; it comes out from
the garden into the city; it nerves to do
and to bear. At last it reaches its climax —
it comes down to trifles. It glorifies the
commonplace ; it finds sermons in stones
and sonnets in the dust. Little things are
magnified; unromantic things are glorified.
We do prosaic work. We perform menial
z

354 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
duties. We go through cheerful drudgery.
We pluck thorns instead of flowers, and smile
at the pain. The latest stage of love's en
largement is when it touches the things on
the ground.
And this is the order in the enlargement of
Pauls love. How do we know this ? Because
we have in our possession a copy of his love-
letters. They form a series stretching over
some fifteen or sixteen years. If we cannot
always point to their exact date, we can tell
at least the order in which they come. And
as we study them in this light we make a
discovery. We find that the series is a series
of milestones. The letters of Paul are a
progressive history. They describe the on
ward march of his love — and none the less
effectively because they do it unconsciously.
You may not trace landmarks in his theology.
As you travel from the Thessalonians to the
Corinthians, from the Corinthians to the
Ephesians, from the Ephesians to the Pas
torals, you may not be able to point to a spot
in which a new doctrine has taken the place

PAUL THE ILLUMINATED 355
of the old. But there is one thing you can
see — the bird is flying over a larger field. The
bird is love. Its wings have not increased
in strength, its plumage is not more beautiful,
its flight is not more high ; but its range is
wider over the earthly plain. The history of
love's enlargement in Paul is identical with
the history of its enlargement in you. He
reaches the goal of freedom by the same
road. There are no two kinds of love where
love is pure. Paul's devotion to his Christ
was not different in essence from your devo
tion to an earthly friend ; and the enlargement
of his devotion to his Christ followed the same
steps which enlarge the compass of your
human devotion. Christ is to him first the
object who is coming, then the object that is
already in the soul, then the object that gives
strength for the world, and lastly the object
which has glorified the things once deemed
insignificant and trivial. Let us glance at
each of these.
When Paul's love for Christ first rose, it
rose as a hope. Like romantic love, it

356 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
presented itself as the prospect of to-morrow.
Christ was coming — He would change all
things, would beautify all things. This pre
sent system did not represent Him ; but this
present system was ready to vanish away.
* It is not here,' he cries to the Thessalonians,
' that you can expect to see Christ's glory ;
His glory can only appear in the transforma
tion of the world. He is coming to transform,
to purify, to brighten. It is true, some of
you are expecting Him too soon. The
world has not yet thoroughly revealed its
badness ; it is kept in check by the laws
of the Roman empire. But the time is
coming when that empire shall be crushed
and broken ; then the passions of men shall
be loosed and you will learn your need of
God's morning. Your hope is in the future ;
your sun is in to-morrow's sky ; your dawn
is in the coming day.'
Remember, the Christ whom Paul first saw
was the Christ in heaven. He never gazed
upon the man of Galilee. His earliest vision
was the vision of a Jesus glorified. Not on

PAUL THE ILLUMINATED 357
the road to the cross did Christ meet him;
He came to him panoplied in heavenly
splendour. What his inner eye beheld was
the Christ of the future — a Christ of majesty,
a Christ of power, a Christ who came clothed
in the lightning and wreathed in the con
queror's robe. That was the first Christian
image in Paul's soul. Is it wonderful that it
should have been the first Christian image in
his writings ! Is it wonderful that his earliest
note of missionary music should be 'Jesus
and the Resurrection ' ! Is it wonderful that
at first his love should look forward instead
of either back or around — should begin,
neither with memory nor with fruition, but
with an act of hope ! The being whom he
loved had come to him as a prospect, not
as a possession. He had flashed before him
as an object to strive for, as a prize which
to-morrow was to win ; and therefore within
the folds of to-morrow lay all his salvation
and all his desire.
But a second stage was coming; you will
find it in the transition from Athens to

358 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
Corinth. Up to the time when he reached
the summit of Mars Hill he had preached
Christ and the Resurrection — the Christ
behind the veil. But after his descent from
Mars Hill his love found a new sphere. He
began to think, not of the Christ in the
heavens, but of the Christ in the soul. There
broke upon him the conviction that even in
this world there might be a little green spot
where he could meet with Jesus. There was
a garden plot on earth which was not of earth
— the region of the human spirit. Thither
he might retire betimes and be at peace.
Within the scene of turmoil there might be
a moment of supreme joy, a place of placid
rest, a bower in whose sweet retirement the
burden and the heat might be forgotten and
where the soul could revel in communion with
the object of its love.
Here, then, Paul's love has reached a higher
stage of illumination; it has found a place
within the present world. But the world
itself to the eye of Paul has not yet been
illuminated — it only contains a spot where il-

PAUL THE ILLUMINATED 359
lumination is possible. That spot is thoroughly
fenced in ; the common round of life enters
not within its precincts. What is Paul's
attitude towards the world at this time? It
has been described as an adverse one. I
would define it rather as one of indifference.
He is in that stage of love in which everything
is ignored but the garden — the place of
meeting with its object. His language to
wards the outside is not that of enmity but
simply of uninterestedness. He does not
condemn marriage ; he says it is a matter
of no consequence whether one is married or
single. He does not condemn merchandise;
he says that buying and selling are things of
no religious moment. He does not condemn
the use of life's good things ; he says that he
has entered into a joy which to him personally
would make the using of them or the refraining
from them a question of absolute unimport
ance — these things have lost their glory by
reason of an all-excelling glory. A young
woman of my acquaintance asked a revival
preacher if he thought there was any harm

360 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
in dancing ; the answer was, ' I do not see
how you can find time.' I think that at this
period such would have been Paul's reply to
any one asking whether in the light of Christ
he was entitled to take part in worldly
pleasures ; he would have said, ' The time is
short.' To his mind it was not so much
that Christ opposed anything as that He
dwarfed everything. He eclipsed to Paul even
the glories of nature. Men have wondered
at his silence on physical beauty ; some have
explained it by the theory that the thorn in
his flesh was blindness. It may have been.
But, to account for Paul's silence about
physical beauty, we need no thorn. It came
from his flower. There was a presence in the
air which to him put out sun and moon and
star. It struck him blind, not by darkness,
but by light. It dimmed the skies by its
glory. It withered the flowers by its radiance.
It lowered the mountains by its majesty. It
supplanted eye and ear, and reigned in their
stead. The world's beauty to ' Paul was
crucified in Jesus.

PAUL THE ILLUMINATED 361
I come to the third stage in the illumination
of Paul's love. Its birthplace was Caesarea
and within the walls of a prison.1 Strange that
a prison should have been the scene of Paul's
enlargement ! Yet, paradoxical as it seems, it
was in prison that the world expanded to his
view. Here, for the first time, he saw Chris
tianity through a telescope ; and things which
he had deemed so far off as to be outside the
pale of Christ were brought so nigh as to be
recognised as parts of His kingdom. Christ
had already been recognised by Paul as the
head of the Church ; but in that prison at
Caesarea He became more — the head of the
state, the head of all states. Within the walls
of that prison the Christian world burst the
boundaries Paul had assigned to it. The
secular became sacred in its greater manifesta
tions — its appearance through the telescope.
Hitherto in the apostle's mind the kingdom
of Christ had been limited to the sitters at
1 I have here followed the view of Meyer that the Epistles
to the Ephesians and the Colossians belong to the Caesarean
rather than to the Roman Captivity — though, unlike him, I
assign to Rome Philippians and Philemon.

362 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
the communion-table. But here, as if by an
opening in the heavens, there was revealed a
wider empire of the Son of Man. He was no
longer merely the king of saints ; He was the
king of kings — the head of principalities and
powers. The Church was no more a little
garden walled in from the outside world ; the
outside world was itself the vestibule into the
Church. All kingdoms were Christ's king
dom ; all history was Church -history ; all
events among the nations were events in the
sphere of religion. Paul began to see his
Christ outside the limits of Eden and apart
from the trees of the Garden. He had traced
His hand in the breaking of communion bread ;
he began to trace it in the powers called natural
— in the field of politics, in the field of war, in
the field of literature, in the field of human
eloquence. There dawned upon him the con
viction that salvation might enter the soul by
a secular door. If Christ was the head of the
state, if the state as well as the Church was
His embodiment, then, in the service of the
state, a man might well feel that he was per-

PAUL THE ILLUMINATED 363
forming mission labour. The politician in the
very pursuit of his politics, the senator in the
very exercise of his art, the soldier in the very
act of defending his country, might claim to
be evangelists. In the light of such a thought
as that, Paul might well realise that his own
profession was taken by violence, and that the
secular heroes of every age could claim him as
a brother. Such was the illumination of Paul's love in
the sphere of the telescope. But what of its
illumination in the sphere of the microscope.
He had seen the sacredness of the state with
its mighty principalities and powers. But
there was an opposite to the state and its
principalities — the home and its common
places. This is the last stage in the progress
of romantic love. It reaches every spot before
that. It begins with the future ; then it finds
in the present a secret place where the world
cannot come ; then it wreathes itself round the
great things of the world. All these Paul
had passed through. But the final stage re
mained—love's illumination of those things of

364 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
the world which were not great — the gilding
of the commonplaces of home. That also
was coming. Already in the latest sections
of what I consider the Caesarean Epistles we
find traces of the idealising of home ; yet it
does not there get the first place. It is in
Paul's last missionary journey that there
strikes the final hour of his spiritual pilgrim
age. There, in his epistle to Titus, his love
reaches its final glory by reaching the ground.
There, for the first time, the subject from
beginning to end is the secular home-life of
the Christian congregation. To the eye of
youthful romance it is a most wingless letter.
There are no flights in the air, no speculations
about futurity, no expositions of Christian
doctrine. Their place is taken by home pre
cepts — precepts for the hearth, precepts for the
household, precepts for the unity of the family
bond. Each generation is addressed in turn —
the grandfather and grandmother, the son and
daughter, the children of the son and the chil
dren of the daughter ; while even their relation
to the domestic servants is not forgotten. Yet,

PAUL THE ILLUMINATED 365
wingless as the letter seems, it is really a proof
that love's wings are perfected. In the illumi
nation of home's prosaic duties the spirit of
romance has reached its utmost stretch of
pinion. Its climax is not the mount but the
vale ; its glory is not the diamond but the
dust. When Paul's love had illuminated the
commonplaces of home, it might well break
into the cry, ' I have fought a good fight, I
have finished my course ; henceforth there is
laid up for me a crown of glory.'

LORD, illuminate this world to me ! Often
have I asked Thine illumination of the
spheres beyond ; it seemed a harder thing to
light up heaven than to light up earth. But I
have found that I was wrong. It is for humble
things I most need Thy revealing. It is easy
for me to worship in the solemn hour of night
when the pulse of life is silent and the world's
tread beats low. It is easy for me to worship
when the sacred symbols are in my hand and

366 THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN
the sacred memories are in my soul. But the
clouds and darkness that are round about
Thee lie not in heaven's mysteries; they lie
in earth's shallows. It is bewildering to see
Cana anxious only about a deficiency in the
feast when the real problem is one of life and
death ; it makes me say, ' Religion is unreal.'
Yet Thou hast stooped to the shallows of
Cana, Thou hast thrown Thyself into sym
pathy with the wants of children. I can find
Thee, I can find Thy cross, even in the land
of trifles. Help me, when there, to seek that
cross ! Help me to repeat Thy sympathy with
Cana ! Help me to wade in the shallows with
the child ! Help me to remember needs that
I have surmounted, to respect desires that I
have outgrown ! Help me to go down to
the things I used to wish for — to recall
the claims of yesterday ! Then shall I be
fervent even amid frivolities, true even amid
trifles, Christian even amid crudities. Then
shall I find pearls in the pool, gold in the
grass, sapphires in the snow, treasures in
the trodden way. Then shall Thy cross be

PAUL THE ILLUMINATED 367
planted in its most unlikely soil — the place
of worldly pleasure, the ground which the
trivial tread. Love will have lighted her
final torch when she has illuminated the
wants of Cana.

Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty
at the Edinburgh University Press

BY THE SAME AUTHOR
THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN OF
THE BIBLE
First Series. — Adam to Job.
Third Edition. Crown %vo, cloth. 6s.
Extracts from Press Notices
' Dr. Matheson's pictures of the representative men of the Bible are
the very poetry of exposition. To enjoy them to the full one must
yield him the poet's licence, and forget pedantry. It is the essence of
each character Dr. Matheson endeavours to seize and to present, as
may be gathered even from the titles of his chapters. These titles are
themselves full of suggestion, and so are the chapters which develop
them. Imagination and eloquence are not common qualities nowadays,
and when they do appear a cordial welcome should be given them.
Dr. Matheson possesses these rarest gifts in combination with a singu
larly devout and spiritual mind, so that in all he writes there is a
flavour peculiar to one of the highest forms of literature. Many
sermons will be born to this book.5 — British Weekly.
'The moral insight and spiritual beauty of these short studies of
men who represent the religious life in all its activities and moods are,
to say the least, remarkable. ' — Standard.
' This book with the Emersonian title contains all the characteristics
of Dr. Matheson's best writing. Added to the charm of style is the
vivid insight into the inner meaning of things. Who, for instance,
but Dr. Matheson would think of Abel as the type of the undeveloped,
the man who was cut off before he had time to ripen ? Or of Adam as
the type of childhood ? Or, again, of Joshua as a type of the prosaic
man ? Yet Dr. Matheson lays his finger on motives and acts of each
man and says, here the child acted, and there the prosaic man fulfilled
his task. These studies make the Old Testament a book that throbs
with life ; not a gallery of portraits, as Dr. Matheson in fancy sees,
but a procession of palpitating, striving men, living not for themselves
alone, but for the generations following.' — Daily News.
'In these exquisite studies Dr. Matheson has brought learning,
thought, and a fine imagination to his task ; and freshness and origin
ality of treatment are distinguishing characteristics of a work on sub
jects that have been dealt with by countless writers. His portraits
are invested with genuine life and interest.
London : HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 2^ Paternoster Row

BY THE SAME AUTHOR
THE REPRESENTATIVE MEN OF
THE BIBLE
Second Series.— Ishmael to Daniel.
Crown 8vo, cloth. 6s.
Extracts from Press Notices
' The charm of style, the beauty of diction, the eloquence of expression,
and the originality of treatment render the volume one of unusual interest.
It is full of suggestiveness, and while it will be helpful to many a minister,
laymen will find in it inspiration and stimulus to the study of men whose
characteristics Dr. Matheson indicates even in the titles to his chapters.
Dr. Matheson gives the volume a semi-devotional character by closing each
study or portrait with a short invocation or prayer.' — Scotsman.
'. Dr. Matheson's latest book is alive with the qualities of mind and heart
which rendered Can the Old Faith Live with the New f and other memor
able volumes, instantly welcome. Not since Bishop Wilberforce published
Heroes of Hebrew History has such a portrait gallery of Bible characters
appeared. . . . Themoral insight and spiritual beauty of these short studies
of men who represent the religious life in all its activities and moods are,
to say the least, remarkable.' — Standard.
' This series before us contains all the characteristics which made the
former volume a treasure of delight. There is the same pictorial phrasing,
the same poetic imagery, the same analysis of motive, the same surprising
insight into the depths of the human heart, the same delightful modernity,
and the same devotional spirit. . . . The two volumes, taken as one, is one
of the freshest, sanest, most instructive and practical pieces of Biblical
exposition Dr. Matheson has yet given us.' — Daily News.
' It has all the poetic insight, original thought, and limpid style which
lend so great a. charm to his devotional meditations, and has a greater
variety of theme. . . . But Dr. Matheson cannot touch the most hackneyed
topic without giving it freshness and novelty.' — Daily Mail.
'Dr. Matheson has not been long in giving us a second delightful
volume of Representative Men. The first pictured for us Adam to Job ;
this shows us Ishmael to Daniel. Laying aside all critical questions, Dr.
Matheson takes his characters as they appear in Holy Writ, and, with
poetic imagining and fulness of expression, presents them to the reader for
admiration and guidance. There is also a happy devotional tone per
vading these rich studies ; so that both on its historical and its spiritual
side the work is one of much value. Preachers will find in it a wealth of
suggestion. ' — Record.
London : HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 27 Paternoster Row

BY THE SAME AUTHOR
STUDIES OF THE PORTRAIT OF CHRIST
Vol. 1. Eighth Edition. Crown Svo, cloth. 6s.
Extracts from Press Notices
' We have no hesitation in encouraging Dr. Matheson to complete
his highly original work, and we are sure that we shall be interested
and instructed.' — Guardian.
'We have no hesitation in saying that these " Studies " form the
freshest contribution to the literature of the subject which has appeared
since Seeley's Ecce Homo. . . . Though the materials have been
worked over by countless writers, we do not remember any one who
has handled them with so much imaginative power and originality.' —
Glasgow Herald.
' We have no hesitation in pronouncing Dr. Matheson's studies the
most pregnant, original, and suggestive contribution to the subject that
has been published for many years. . . . Full of hardly won and
precious truths. ... A banquet of pure, concentrated thought. . . .
It is impossible that such a volume should miss its mark.' — British
Weekly. ' The reader will find in this latest volume many a jewelled thought
and no lack of the freshness which characterises his earlier works. ' —

'Together these two volumes of Dr. Matheson's "Studies of the
Portrait of Christ " will rank as one of the most devout and stimulating
of all the long series of Lives of Christ which this century has pro
duced. ' — Expository Times.
' In pursuing his task, Dr. Matheson has struck out many original
thoughts, put many things in a new light, and invested the " old, old
story " with fresh interest and beauty. ... A valuable contribution
to that branch of religious literature. ' — Scotsman.
' This beautiful study of the spiritual development of the work of
Jesus is Dr. Matheson at his best.' — Literary World.
' For this kind of study of the Lord's Life, Dr. Matheson has high
qualifications. He has imagination, poetry, deep spiritual insight.
Every page is full of thought, fresh and suggestive, and wonderfully
helpful to a clear and vivid conception of the person and the ministry
of the Divine Redeemer.' — Presbyterian.
London : HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 27 Paternoster Row

BY THE SAME AUTHOR
STUDIES OF THE PORTRAIT OF CHRIST
Vol. II. Fourth Edition. Crown Svo, cloth. 6s.
Extracts from Press Notices
' Every incident in the story contributes its touch to the picture, and
the highly original way in which Dr. Matheson develops them, gives
each incident a chance of heightening its own effect. They are dealt
with in almost every case with marked originality, and are full of
memorable "Obiter Dicta"! . . . The studies are not only in the
highest degree original, but answer a directly spiritual purpose, each
being rounded off with a meditation and prayer.' — Times.
'The volume altogether makes another valuable addition to that
literature of devotion of the present day of which the author's contribu
tions form already some of its choicest treasures.' — Christian World.
'The key to the success of these studies seems to be the happy
faculty which the author possesses of entering, as it were, into the
mind of the persons of whom he writes. Most reverently does he
attempt to indicate the mental attitude of Jesus in many of the familiar
scenes, in graceful and simple language, which harmonises well with
the unembellished text of the Gospel narrative. Each chapter
presents in this way the facts and significance of some well-known
event. From the point of view of a semi-devotional study of the life
of Christ, it will be acknowledged that Dr. Matheson has made a valu
able contribution to that branch of religious literature.' — Scotsman.
'This second volume is in no need of recommendation to readers
who have enjoyed, and profited, by the first. It is marked by the same
freshness of treatment, the same suggestiveness, and need we add that
when Dr. Matheson departs from received interpretations he is gener
ally best worth attention.' — Literary World.
' We have read it with great interest and much enjoyment. All the
best qualities of Dr. Matheson are manifest in the book. His piety,
his devotion, his reverence for all that is good, true, and beautiful, his
beautiful style, and his artistic gift is conspicuous here. It is not a
book to be criticised ; it is a book to be read quietly, to be returned to
frequently when we wish our spirits to be rested, refreshed, and
strengthened, and when we desire something of the stillness of eternity
to break through the turmoil of time. It is a book which devout
readers will greatly enjoy, and which will do good to all who read it.'
— Aberdeen Free Press.
London : HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 27 Paternoster Row

BY THE SAME AUTHOR
SIDELIGHTS FROM PATMOS
Third Edition. Crown %vo, cloth. 6s.
Extracts from Press Notices
' It is fresh, strong, practical, and no one reading one chapter will
care to omit the rest.' — Methodist Recorder.
' His style has all the charm of poetry, abounds in beautiful expres
sions and imagery, frequently rises to a high degree of eloquence, and
is always perfectly lucid. . . . The book should find an honoured place
on the shelves of every student of Scripture. ' — Aberdeen Free Press.
' His book is full of fine thoughts brilliantly expressed. It is not a
book, however, whose qualities can be made plain by any general
criticism, or even by such extracts as we would have space to give. It
must be read to be appreciated, and we can promise readers that they
will find it one of the most original and stimulating religious works of
the season.' — Glasgow Herald.
' The book has all the merits of Dr. Matheson's style, and as he has
manifestly put his heart and mind into it, it may confidently be com
mended to the numerous lovers of the train of religious thought of
which the author may be said to be the leader in these northern lati
tudes. ' — Scotsman.
' The readers of Dr. Matheson know what to expect in anything
from his pen, and here they will not be disappointed. He is in full
sympathy with his subject, and it affords scope for the play of all his
characteristic gifts. His fine poetic style, his deep spiritual insight,
his wonderful power of seeing aspects of truth that other men seem to
overlook, all these are seen on every page. The book, let us add, is
daintily got up, dressed in its delicate blue boards and gilt top. Alto
gether, it is a pleasure to the eye and a stimulus to the mind and heart.
We have much pleasure in recommending it.' — Primitive Methodist
Magazine. ' The thoughts are often startling in their originality and beauty, and
fall like flashes of light upon many a dark and obscure passage. Dr.
Matheson has read widely both in theology and science, and possesses
rare insight into things spiritual, so that the book becomes a kind of
revelation. Alike to the general reader or to the student, we can re
commend nothing better.' — Church Family Newspaper.
London : HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 27 Paternoster Row

BY THE SAME AUTHOR
THE LADY ECCLESIA
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY
Second Edition. Crown %vo, gilt top. 6s.
Extracts from Press Notices
' The work abounds in splendid passages, whose significance none
can fail to understand ; and the climax, in which " Ecclesia" conquers
the imperial power, approaches the sublime.' — Christian World.
' Dr. Matheson has unquestionably produced a great book, worthy
to become a classic. ... No one will fail to appreciate the lofty tone
in which the narrative is cast, or to feel grateful to the author that amid
the stern facts connected with the rise of the Christian faith, he has
been able to discern and to tell of things invisible to ordinary per
ceptions. ' — Scotsman.
' Dr. Matheson, by his skilful use of the autobiographical mode of
narration, keeps the grip of the reader from the beginning to the end.
... It is altogether a unique work, as rich in thought as it is fertile
in ingenuity.' — Glasgow Herald.
' It is the production of a mind which must necessarily be much
engaged in ethical and spiritual contemplation, undistracted by
beholding the multitudinous features of scenery and life. It thus
possesses an originality which characterises all the writings of this
gifted divine. The whole work is fertile in ingenuity, suggestive in
thought, philosophic in general tenor, and rich in Christian experi
ence.' — Dundee Advertiser.
' Dr. Matheson has hitherto been known as a thoughtful and accom
plished theologian. In the present volume he has given us a singularly
fascinating allegory. But there is more help towards the understanding
of the essential nature of the work of Christianity in the world, than in
many a volume of Church history.' — Manchester Guardian.
' Anything written by Dr. Matheson is sure to be classified among
" whatsoever things are lovely." And this autobiography is no excep
tion to the happy rule. We have herein nine-and-twenty exquisitely
written chapters of autobiographic cast, a portrayal of the earlier
history of the Christian Church.' — Methodist Times.
London : HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 27 Paternoster Row

Works by
Prof. George Adam Smith, D.D., LL.D.
Modern Criticism and the Preaching of the Old
Testament. Yale Lectures on Preaching. Crown 8vo,
cloth. 6s.
1 Full of originality and suggestiveness, and is alive and challenging from end to
end. It is as powerful and ardent as anything Dr. Smith has written, and it is also
spiritual and subtle. Best of all, it is profoundly and unreservedly Christian, rich
in calming truth, and in earnest and simple faith.' — Dr. Robertson Nicoll.
The Historical Geography of the Holy Land. With
6 specially prepared Maps, Additions, Corrections, and New Index
of Scripture References. 8vo, cloth. 15^.
1 A very noteworthy contribution to the study of sacred history, based upon the
three indispensable conditions of personal acquaintance with the land, a study of the
explorations, discoveries, and decipherments, especially of the last twenty years,
and the employment of the results of Biblical criticism during the same period.' —
Times.
The Book of the Twelve Prophets commonly called
the Minor. In 2 volumes. Crown 8vo, cloth. Js. 6d. each.
' In Dr. Smith's volumes we have much more than a popular exposition of the
minor prophets. We have that which will satisfy the scholar and the student quite
as much as the person who reads for pleasure and for edification.' — Dr. Marcus
Dods in the British Weekly.
The Book of Isaiah. In 2 volumes. Crown 8vo.
"]s. 6d. each.
' Mr. George Adam Smith has evidently such a mastery of the scholarship of his
subject that it would be a sheer impertinence for most scholars, even though toler
able Hebraists, to criticise his translations ; and certainly it is not the intention of
the present reviewer to attempt anything of the kind, to do which he is absolutely
incompetent.' — Spectator.
The Forgiveness of Sins and other Sermons.
Crown 8vo, cloth. 6s.
'To a beauty of diction, Dr. Smith adds a keen, subtle analysis of human
nature, a profound acquaintance with Holy Scripture, and a vivid apprehension of
the pressure of modern social and religious problems.' — Daily News.
The Life of Henry Drummond, F.R.S.E. With
Portrait. Cheap Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth. 3s. 6d.
1 Dr. George Adam Smith has not only made the story of his hero interesting, but
he has written a book which will be read with avidity for its own sake.' — Daily
News. Four Psalms. Cloth elegant, is. 6d.
' These expositions are in every way admirable, and worthy of the highest admira
tion.' — Aberdeen Free Press.
London : IIODDER AND STOUGHTON, 27 Paternoster Row

Works by
The Rev. G. H. Morrison, M.A.
THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE FLOCK
Scripture Studies for Every Sunday of the Year
Crown Szio, cloth. 6s.
' The volume is just what is wanted in the hands of parents and guardians to
direct talks on Bible subjects within the family circle. Teachers and leaders of
Bible-classes will find it of the highest service. . . . The exposition is lucid, and
the reader will find that he is carried into an atmosphere where the topics and
teaching will expand his own mind. Mr. Morrison speaks from heart to heart.' —
Christian,
FLOOD-TIDE
Sunday Evenings in a City Pulpit
Fourth Edition. Crown $vo, cloth. $s.
1 A volume of thoughtful and original sermons.' — Guardian.
'The tone and temper and spirit of the whole are admirably effective for such a
presentation of evangelical religion as shall make it a vital force in modern life.
Some of the sermons are prose poems, and all of them are full of beauty and tender
ness ; yet there is none of them which is not at the same time wonderfully
"practical " and close to daily duty.' — Scotsman.
' They are among the most charming sermons that we have read for a considerable
period. . . . The preacher's touch of originality, his suggestiveness, his literary
delicacy, his genuineness, his simplicity, his poetic capacity, combine to give his
addresses a measure of interest and value that is very far from common in the
present fay.'— Record.
SUNRISE
Addresses from a City Pulpit
Fourth Thousand. Crown 8vo, cloth. $s.
1 Mr. Morrison ... is thoroughly modern, knows how to choose his subjects, and
how to invoke interest in them. He understands what to say, and what to leave
unsaid ; what to press, and what to touch lightly. He has a literary gift, and a wide
knowledge of literature ; and through all he breathes an evangelical fervour.' —
British Weekly.
1 These addresses are distinguished by the exceptional qualities as prominent in
the earlier volume, and afford ground for the belief that, in the hands of preachers
like Mr. Morrison, there need be no cause for apprehending a decline in the power
of the Scottish pulpit.' — Scotsman.
London : HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 27 Paternoster Row

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