PART I.GENERAL PREPARATION.
CHAPTER I.THE WRITTEN AND EXTEMPORE DISCOURSE COMPARED.
The special object of the following pages is to show the manner and requirements of extempore preaching. But as this differs from other methods of speech in its objects rather than in its external qualities, many of the thoughts we present will apply as well to the bar and forum as to the sacred desk.
There is need that this subject should be enforced, particularly on the ministry. A growing desire is manifested to give up plain, direct speech, and indulge in the ease and certainty of written sermons. Young men find themselves in places where it requires unwearied exertion to sustain their reputation, and satisfy the demands of a cultivated audience. They begin to fear that their spoken sermons may be deficient in polish and style, and at last they write. The people nearly always protest against the innovation, but to no purpose, for having convinced himself that he is right, the minister treats their murmurs as the effect of vulgar prejudice, and as a frequent result, his usefulness is permanently impaired.
This evil cannot be diminished by denouncing those who engage in it, for the supposed necessity they labor under is stronger than any other consideration. But it may be lessened by showing that there is a better way, and making it plain. Such will be our endeavor.
The two extremes of speech are, the discourse which is written and read verbatim, and that in which both words andthoughts are left to the impulse of the moment. Between these there are many intermediate grades. The latter may be excluded from the classification altogether, for no wise man will adopt it except in some unforeseen emergency. True extemporization relates to the words alone, and leaves full room for the complete preparation of thought. Between this and the manuscript discourse there are various compromises which seek to combine the advantages of both. These, for the sake of convenience, may be called the recited, composite, premeditated and sketched discourses.
It is useless to deny that the method of writing in full and reading, possesses many and great advantages. It secures time for the consideration of every thought. If the mind fags, the writer can pause until it is rested and begin again; and in this way all the ideas and expressions that occur for several days can be concentrated into one sermon. Then it can be revised, and the language improved to an indefinite extent, and the sermon, in its completeness, laid away for future use.
But there are great disadvantages. Such a sermon may, by solidity of thought, and brilliancy of expression, command approval, but it will seldom move and sway the people. The very idea that all has been written out, and is merely read, will tend powerfully to neutralize its effects. We may remonstrate against this if we will, and declare that our sermons should be judged by their substance, but this does not abate the preference of our auditors. They will retort, with truth, that they can read even better sermons at home, and dwell on them at their leisure. What they want in preaching is the living sympathy and guidance of the preacher; his soul burning and glowing, and thus lighting up other souls; his eye beaming on theirs; his clear, far-seeing mind, excited by the magnetism of truth, and appealing to their hearts with an earnestness that will take no denial. This fills the popular ideal of preaching, and no elaboration, no word music will atone for the want of it. Men of great genius may succeed otherwise, but the mass of speakers cannot.
The plan of memorizing and reciting sermons would seem, upon a superficial view, to secure the advantages of reading without its defects. But another and formidable class of disadvantages come into being. Very few men can declaim well. For one who can speak from memory with ease and naturalness, twenty can pour forth their ideas in the words of the moment with energy and effect. A few have mastered the difficult art, and won enduring laurels in this way, but their number is too small to encourage others to imitation.
This practice also imposes a heavy burden on the mind. To write and commit two or three sermons in a week, is a task that only those who are strong in mental and physical health can perform with impunity, and even then it requires too much time; for no matter how perfect a minister’s sermons may be, unless he fulfills other duties, he cannot be wholly successful. Most preachers who memorize, inevitably neglect pastoral work because they have not time for it. And another effect follows that is, if possible, still worse. Instead of growing daily in knowledge by diligent study, the mind is kept on the tread-wheel task of writing and committing sermons, and thus permanently dwarfed. A young man may take a higher rank at first by memorizing, than otherwise, but he will not retain it long, for the knowledge others accumulate while he is conning his discourses, will soon place them above him.
The practice of committing brilliant passages to be recited with the eyes withdrawn from the paper, or thrown into the current of unpremeditated discourse, we have termed the composite manner. It is open to all the objections urged against the last method, and a most formidable one in addition—the difficulty of making these sudden flashes fit into their proper places, and of preventing them from destroying the unity of the whole discourse. They differ so widely from the rest of the composition, that the audience are apt to see the artifice and despise it. A skillful man may join them properly, but even then his own attention, and that of the audiencewill, probably, be so closely fixed upon them that the main design of the sermon will pass out of sight.
These three varieties are much alike, and may be called branches of the word-preparation method. In them, words are carefully chosen, and form the groundwork of discourse. The next three are based on thought.
The premeditated discourse comes nearest to the word method. It was the medium of the wonderful eloquence of the late Bishop Bascom. In it the ideas are first arranged, and then each thought pondered until it resolves itself into words, which are mostly recalled in the moment of speech. Men who speak thus usually have great command of language and much fixity of impression. Those who receive ideas readily, and lose them again as easily, could not adopt this method, for words previously arranged could not be recalled in the same order, unless they had been fixed by the pen. There is little objection to this mode of preparation in the case of those who are adapted to it, provided they do not carry it so far as to feel burdened or confused. No words should be left in charge of the memory, and no conscious effort made to recall particular expressions.
Stevens, in his admirable book called “Preaching Required by the Times,” advises ministers, when revolving and arranging their ideas, not to let them run into words. We can see no ill effect in this, provided the result is a natural one. All the words must be retained easily in the memory, and not sought for if they do not spontaneously present themselves in the act of speech. President Lincoln, who was a most effective off-hand speaker, said, that he owed his skill in this art to the early practice of reducing every thought he entertained to the plainest and simplest words. Then when he desired to enunciate an idea he had no difficulty in giving it a form that even a child could understand.
The sketched discourse approaches very closely to the purely extempore method, and only differs from it in writing the whole matter in full, with no care for style, simply to practice in the art of expression, and to test our mastery ofthe plan arranged. In it there is no intention of memorizing, or of using the same words again, except so far as the ideas in their simplest form may suggest them. This is only doing on paper what, in the last method, was done mentally. It may be of great advantage to those who have had but a limited experience, and cannot so clearly grasp their ideas in the domain of pure thought as to be sure that they are fully adapted to the purposes of their sermons.
But at the slow rate of writing in the common hand, this requires too much time. If a person have mastered Phonography, or Tachygraphy, a valuable improvement of the former, more easily acquired and retained in practice, he may write a sermon in little more than the time it will take to preach it, if he only work at full speed and do not stay for the niceties of style. Then the defects in the arrangement or material, that before escaped his attention, will be brought to light. We can judge a sermon more impartially when it is placed outside of the mind, than if it were only mentally reviewed, and we still have time to correct whatever may be amiss.
But the great method of which the two former are mere branches, and which in fact underlies every other, is that of pure extemporization. In this there is a firm, compact road of previously prepared thought leading directly to the object aimed at. When thus speaking, we always feel on solid ground, and each moment have the proper, selected idea, seeking expression, and clothing itself in the needed words. All men talk thus, and we cannot but regard it as the highest form of oratory. When we have obtained complete mastery of expression, and the ability to so arrange facts and ideas, that at the fitting moment they will resolve themselves into words, the high problem of eloquence is in a great measure solved.
CHAPTER II.PREREQUISITES—INTELLECTUAL COMPETENCY—STRENGTH OF BODY—COMMAND OF LANGUAGE—COURAGE—FIRMNESS.
Almost every speaker has at some time longed to obtain the golden power of eloquence. It always insures to its fortunate possessor a strong influence in the affairs of men. It is needed in the promotion of every reform, and is the only means by which the minds of a community can be at once moved in a new direction. When employed in the service of error and injustice it is like a fallen archangel’s power for evil. But its highest and purest sphere is in the promulgation of revealed truth. It there brings the word of God into living contact with the souls of men, and by it molds them into a higher life. It is sublime to be a co-worker with God, and thus assist him in peopling heaven.
Only the method of eloquence can be taught. Its refined and ethereal substance lies beyond the reach of all art. No preacher can be truly eloquent without the baptism of the Holy Spirit, and even the excited passion and burning enthusiasm which are the human sources of this quality, can be acquired by no formularies. But they may be developed and properly directed where a capability for them exists. In this respect there is the widest difference of talent. Some men never can attain the wondrous power of swaying their fellow-beings. Others are born orators. The latter class is small, and it is never safe to conclude that we belong to it until the fact has been incontestably proved. Neither is the class of incapables very large. The great mass of men liebetween the extremes. Their talents do not make them great in spite of themselves; but if they make the proper effort, and are favored by circumstances, they may become effective, and even eloquent speakers. To these it is of great importance to have the right road pointed out, along which they may travel, and by earnest toil gain the desired end. There is no “royal road” to eloquence, but here, as elsewhere, application and study will produce their proper effects. Yet certain prerequisites must be received from God himself, without which all cultivation will be vain as the attempt to fertilize the sands of the seashore.
The first quality to which we will refer, is intellectual competency. By this, we mean a strength of intellect that can grasp an idea, and form a complete image of it; one who is not able to think out a subject in its leading features, cannot speak on it, and if the deficiency be general, he is unfitted to speak in public at all. We would not assert that none but men of commanding intelligence can profitably address their fellow-beings. It is not even necessary that the orator should be above the average of mental power possessed by his audience. Franklin was entranced by the preaching of Whitefield, though in grasp and compass of mind almost infinitely his superior. A man of comparative dullness may, by brooding over a particular subject, so master it, that the greatest intellect will listen to him with reverence and profit. The great German poet, Goethe, said that he met few men from whom he did not learn something valuable. But no man ought to address the people unless he can clearly comprehend the nature of his subject, mark out its limitations, understand its relations to other subjects, and so arrange and simplify it as to convey these ideas to his hearers. The Christian minister has to deal with a great variety of topics, and requires mind enough to grasp not one only, but many subjects.
It is hard to determine just how much mental power is required to secure a moderate degree of success as an orator. No precise rules can be given on this point, and if theycould, egotism would prevent each from applying them to himself however correctly he might gauge his neighbor. The presumptuous would do well to remember that oratory is the highest of all arts, and to measure themselves with becoming humility; perhaps the following questions may aid in self-examination. Can you grasp an idea firmly? can you follow its ramifications, perceive its shades of meaning, and render it familiar in all its bearings? Can you analyze it clearly, so that each separate part will be understood by itself, and then again link these together and make each serve as a stepping-stone to the comprehension of that which follows? If you can do this with a single subject, you have the mental power to speak on that subject; if on all, or many of the subjects of the Christian religion, vast and varied as they are, you can preach. No deficiency of intellectual power or originality need dishearten you.
The fact of the close and mutual influence of body and mind is beyond dispute, although their connection is a subject of deep mystery. When we see how much the faculties of reason and imagination—nay, even of hope, love, and faith—are affected by bodily conditions, we can only exclaim with the Psalmist, “I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Especially is this mutual dependence forced upon the attention of the extempore speaker. In every effort he feels the subtle effect of physical causes, and often under the pressure of disease, strives in vain to realize the grand but intangible thoughts that float through his brain. The body is the instrument of the mind in its communication with the outward world, and even if the most sublime and glorious conceptions existed within, they would be powerless if the bodily organs were unequal to the task of expressing them.
A dumb man cannot be an orator, no matter how richly endowed; and all other bodily defects will be felt as hindrances even if they fall short of the deprivation of an organ of sense. The preacher needs to be a completely developed man physically, as well as mentally, though he may succeed in spite of many disadvantages. Feeble health will alwaysdetract from his power. The mind may for a time rise superior to it, but a crushing recoil will follow. This takes place when the ill-health is not extreme; but when it fetters the ability of expression, and prevents the manifestation of living power, the barrier is absolute. Many ministers utterly fail, because they forget that eloquence is the offspring of health; others, perhaps, still more unfortunate have battled against disease and bodily infirmity for years, and yet have been doomed to feel, amid their brightest aspirations, that a power beyond their control was conquering them. It is terrible to sit helpless, and see a cloud stealing over the brightness of genius, and shading the whole future of life. Yet this has been the experience of thousands. We remember an impressive illustration of this in the case of one who possessed the richest endowments. He was almost unequaled as a pulpit orator, yet, in the middle of life, saw his powers of usefulness withdrawn, and his fame fading—only because his body could not bear the strain he unwisely put upon it.
In view of the many facts of this kind, it would be well for the man who aspires to eminence in the fields of eloquence, to examine himself, and see if he have the needed physical strength. With some the incapacity is no doubt total. How many ministers have had their light turned into darkness by a diseased throat, a cerebral affection, or a nervous disorder? But the majority of men only need care and obedience to the laws of life to bring their bodies up to the standard of efficiency. In youth, at least, there is nothing so easily improved as health. By the golden rule of temperance in all things—in voice and thought, as well as food and drink—nearly all may render the body adequate to the manifestation of mind.
To an orator, the power of readily clothing his thoughts in words is indispensable. Language is the dress of ideas—the means by which they are communicated to others. The thoughts that arise in our minds resolve themselves into words as naturally as the clouds do into falling showers. We use words to some degree in our most secret meditations,and whenever the latter become clear and well defined they fall into language without conscious effort. To cause them to do this with precision and certainty is one of the problems of extempore speech. The thought is prepared in advance, but is to be coined into words at the moment. If the faculty of language is weak this cannot be done without such hesitation and embarrassment as greatly to diminish the effect; but if strong, a tide of words will be poured forth without apparent effort. Even in common conversation, a wide difference in point of fluency may be observed. In fact, it was this which gave Gall the first hint that led to the establishment of Phrenology.
No doubt this faculty may be greatly cultivated and improved, but when its original strength is very small, it can not, probably, be made available for ready and powerful speech. There are persons whose voices seem to have no defect, who cannot learn to sing; others, with eyes perfectly organized, are unable to distinguish between colors. The power of language may be equally deficient in an otherwise well-constituted mind. We once knew a man who could not find the words necessary to make the most common statement without long and embarrassed pauses. He forgot the names of his nearest neighbors; and, when telling a story, required perpetual prompting wherever names occurred, and would often hesitate until some every-day term was suggested to him. No cultivation would have made him a speaker. He had as much education as his neighbors around, and was not remarkably dull. He was simply an almost wordless man. Many persons suffer in the same manner, though but few to the same degree.
But the mere fact that a man is slow of speech is no bar even to the highest eminence as an orator. The proper test of the power of this faculty is in common conversation. There one feels perfectly at ease, and deals with matters he understands. If he have but a moderate share of fluency, he will have no difficulty in conveying his ideas. But if he does experience such difficulty, it shows a radical defectwhich art can never remove. But we should not be discouraged if it is hard to find appropriate words when speaking on unfamiliar subjects, for we cannot have words to express ideas before possessing the ideas themselves!
Those who are deficient in language, but have strong powers of thought, are almost the only persons who really find relief in writing and reading their sermons. If they have time to wait, the right word may come to them, or they can search through dictionaries for it; but in the hurry of speech there is no such leisure for selection. They have some excuse for writing, though it will still be questionable whether it would not be better for them to dash ahead with the loss of some precision, or if this cannot be done, abandon altogether a profession for which they are so obviously unfitted.
A man must have a degree of courage to place himself within reach of any danger, and remain there. If he be destitute of it, he will resign the hope of victory rather than encounter the perils by which it may be won. It is needed in extempore speaking as well as in any species of physical danger, for the perils to be encountered are not less terrible. To some sensitive minds these even amount to a species of martyrdom. They go to the desk trembling in every limb, and would feel wonderfully relieved if they could exchange their position for the tented field, where the warfare would be of the body only, and not of the spirit. Some of the greatest orators have never been able to entirely overcome this feeling, although they may have been free from the fear of failure.
But it is difficult to be perfectly assured even against failure. “There is nothing so fitful as eloquence,” says the Abbe Bautain, who was well qualified to judge. The practiced and prepared orator does not often dread losing command of words altogether, and being obliged to close before the proper time, but fears that his rich and glowing conceptions may fade, and his high ideal be unattained.
Mere boldness does not suffice to protect a speaker fromthese dangers. Of what avail is a man’s courage if his brain be clouded and his tongue paralyzed? He cannot brave the consequences, for the power of ridicule is too keen for any armor—at least when it comes in such a concentrated volume as falls on the head of the unfortunate speaker who can not finish what he has begun. At such a time the boaster’s fate is worst of all; for, while others are pitied, he is crushed beneath the scorn and triumph of his audience. There is no positive guard against failure. Public speaking is a modern battle, in which the most skillful warrior may be stricken down by a random bullet—the bravest slain by a coward!
What then is the benefit of courage? We have placed it in the list of essential qualities, and believe the orator cannot succeed without it. It does not operate by rendering failure impossible, or even materially reducing the risk, but by enabling us to endure all danger and press on. Bonaparte said that most generals failed in one point—they delayed to attack when it became necessary to fight a great battle. The issue was so uncertain—so far beyond the reach of human wisdom—that they hesitated and deliberated until the favorable moment had passed forever. In war this timid policy courts destruction, by permitting the adversary to choose his own time to strike. The same principle governs in other affairs. The risk must be taken. A man of courage derives new lessons from his failures, and makes them the introduction to future triumphs. Especially in the field of oratory is there no possibility of success, if this indomitable, persevering spirit be wanting. Many persons of excellent talents have been condemned to perpetual silence, because they would not endure the perils of speech. Men who have instructed the world by their pens, and in the privacy of the social circle have charmed their friends by the magic of their conversation, have never spoken in public because they shrunk from the inevitable hazard. There is no difficulty in determining whether we possess this quality or not. Let the trial be made, and if we do not abandon our posts and incur disgrace rather than speak, we have all the boldness that is needed.
The quality of firmness in oratory is sometimes undervalued. While steady, persevering industry, working toward a definite end, is known to be essential in everything else, in this field genius is often supposed to be sufficient. There never was a greater mistake. Nature does lay the foundation broad and deep for some men, but they must build diligently upon it to make their gifts availing. The way to eminence, even for the favored few, is long and hard, requiring deep thought and earnest striving, and without a strong purpose fixed in the very beginning, and firmly adhered to through years of labor, there is slight chance of success. A few persons have risen to eminence without appearing to pay the price for it, but such exceptions are more apparent than real. There are times of great excitement, when some one before unknown is able to speak so as to fix the eyes of the nation upon himself, but unless he has been previously prepared, and continues to put forth resolute effort, his success is but transitory.
The career of Patrick Henry is adduced as an instance of success without labor. He had little education in the schools, but learned much from Nature herself. His observation was tireless. It is said, that when he kept a country store, he would sit and question his customers by the hour, causing them to display their various dispositions. He was thus learning to play upon the human heart, and as this was only one manifestation of a ruling passion, it doubtless took a hundred other forms. When on those long hunting excursions in the beautiful valley of Virginia, how many deep and ineffaceable impressions must have been made on his mind. He had a peerless genius, yet all we can learn of him leads us to believe that he cultivated it to the utmost, at least as applied to oratory.
The familiar examples of Demosthenes and Cicero are not solitary ones. All who have acquired the power of effective speech have toiled long and patiently. The poor, weak waverer can never be an orator in the highest sense of the term, however he may, on special occasions, flash into momentarybrilliancy. And as the minister of the Gospel must cultivate the most difficult field of eloquence, we advise no one to attempt preaching who is not conscious of a strong, unchangeable purpose—a purpose that will bear delay, discouragement and weary waiting.
Of course, the nature of all the results obtained through our firmness will depend on the direction of our efforts. If personal ambition, or pecuniary profit be the object toward which we bend our energies, the grand and holy character of the Christian ministry will be lost sight of. But let our aim be unselfish, and our success will be pure and noble.
To him who has a mind to conceive, a body with strength to execute, language to coin the mass of thoughts into words, courage to bear the scrutiny of a thousand eyes, and firmness that will endure the toil of preparation—to him the upward pathway is clear. He may not win great fame, but he will be able to present the truth in its native beauty, and make his words fall with weight and power on the hearts of men.
CHAPTER III.BASIS OF SPEECH—THOUGHT AND EMOTION—HEART CULTIVATION.
Thought and emotion are two prime elements in the manifestations of mind. All the products of mental action, unless it be the mysterious power of will, are divided between them, and by them, through various means of expression, we reach and influence the outward world.
Thought springs from the intellect, and acts upon the facts received from every source, retaining, arranging and modifying them at will. Feeling is the mind’s response to all these, and comprises fear, love, hope, faith, hatred and all the sentiments and emotions that are described under the general name of “the heart.” Speech is founded on these two elements, which meet and mingle in every human production, though seldom in the same proportion. The speaker who has greatest mastery of one, is often most deficient in the other. But if so, the whole range of eloquence is not open to him. He is only a half-developed orator, and his usefulness will be very much narrowed.
A man of deep thought but sluggish emotion, may enchain the attention of an assembly by the novel and far-reaching views he presents and the ability with which he unfolds them, but the whole discourse will be dull and lifeless. He will find it very difficult to move his hearers to action. They may assent to every word he utters, and yet continue in their own course. Every minister’s experience furnishes proof that it is not enough to convince, or it would be very easyto convert the world. At times it is right to use the sword of intellect alone. In controversy, for example, a solid basis of reasoning must be laid before anything else can be done. But it is not always enough. Men are led as often by their sentiments and intuitions as by their judgments, and we are allowed to use all lawful means to win them. Even the pure light of truth is not always to be discovered through the intellect alone. A mere feeling of what is right, or just, or true, often leads, in an instant, to a conviction that all subsequent reasoning can only strengthen. The ideal orator, therefore, is one who, even in argument, can show the truth, and then, by a flash of heavenly sympathy, change our cold assent into fervent conviction.
On the other hand, a man of predominant feeling may make us weep, but as we see no reason for it, we resist the emotion to the extent of our power. If we yield, a reaction follows, and we go away ashamed of what we cannot justify. Of this class were some of the early Methodist preachers—the weeping prophets, as they were termed. Their tears, and the feeling with which they spoke, were often irresistible, and by the mere force of sympathy, men who had very little intellectual power were able to sway the passions of an audience at will. But had it not been for some of their brethren, who were men of thought as well as emotion—men who had clear heads to organize and combine, as well as tears to shed, the effect of their labor would have been evanescent as the emotions they excited.
Continuity is a highly important quality of thought. All men think; they cannot help it, for the mind is ever active. But with most these thoughts are but random flashes—illuminated pictures—that arise for a moment, and then vanish to give place to others. Powerful thinking consists in holding these scattered images together in a chain, and making them run uninterruptedly from one point to another. There is no man who does not at times catch glimpses of far-reaching, profound thoughts; but before he can combine them into harmony and place them in their proper relation toother thoughts, they disappear, and he may search long before he will find them again. All persons see the beauties of natural scenery, but it is only the poet who can reproduce the scattered elements and combine them into a harmonious description. Only the true thinker can gather the fragments of thought that flash through the mind, and give them form and consistency. This power is indispensable to the speaker. He must give, not a mere gallery of pictures, however beautiful they may be, but a succession of thoughts, naturally connected, by which the mind advances step by step through the discourse, without jar or interruption. We will endeavor to give some directions for the acquisition of this power, as far as may be necessary in extempore speaking. The capability of thought must indeed be possessed or all cultivation will be vain; but if the mind have any native vigor, it can learn to think consecutively and methodically, even as the unskilled but perfectly organized hand may be taught to carve beautiful and complicated forms.
As a general rule, men can be more easily moved by appeals made to their feelings than to their reason, and find the most masterly dissertation cold and lifeless unless relieved by some touches of humanity and passion. A man who does not possess true feeling cannot so counterfeit it as to reach the hearts of others, but he may, in a great measure, transform his own nature and acquire it. The most essential qualification for a religious teacher is a deep personal religious experience. One who has never passed through the mystic, mingled sorrow and joy of penitence and the agony of remorse—has never watched with straining eyes for the dawning light of salvation, and at last been enabled to say, “Abba, Father!” such a one cannot preach the gospel with power and success. His speech may glitter with all the flowers of rhetoric and the form of words be complete, but the vast power of the earnest soul sympathizing with all the lips utter, will be absent. Without genuine experience, our preaching will be apt to fall into that loose generalization which can do no good. For it is only whenwe plant our feet on living realities—those we have tested and know to be sure, and deal in particular, specified facts, that we are able to pierce through all the folds of ignorance and self-love, and awaken an echo of the conscience within.
As a mere form of knowledge, the experience of God’s dealings with the awakened soul is more valuable than any other lore. But its great advantage to the preacher is not the increase of knowledge. It produces a tide of emotion that can never sleep until the judgment day. It connects the Cross and the divine Sufferer with cords of living sympathy that always thrill to the very centre of our being. Conversion invariably deepens and intensifies the emotions of our nature; and if the speaker has passed through a strongly marked change he will have the power of imparting his impressions to others, and of giving to his descriptions the inimitable charm of reality. If his religious experience accords with the Bible, he can speak from his own heart with almost irresistible force. This was the secret of the power wielded by Luther, Wesley, Whitefield and others who have shaken the world. Thus prepared, John Bunyan wrote the most wonderful book of any age—recorded the world’s experience in religion, and made the cold, dead realms of allegory flash with life. He laid the spell of his genius on all alike, and the child prattles of the burdened pilgrim with the giants in his way, while the old man is cheered by the light that streams down from the high hill on which the city is built. The reason of his power is simply that he wrote his own spiritual experience in the language of truth. He had stood at the bar of Vanity Fair, had fought with the fiends, and groped his way through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. From the depths of his own heart, torn by internal conflict, or healed and made happy by a heavenly anointing, he drew the images that glow with all the color of life in his marvelous book.
Love is the mightiest of all forces, and Jesus was revealed to draw unto himself the love of the universe. Let the minister learn of him, and he will be able to speak as henever spoke before. He will strike the key-note of that song whose solemn music has rolled down through the centuries, and will wax louder and clearer until time shall be no more.
The story of the Cross, with all that depends upon it, forms principal part of the Christian orator’s theme. But he has other duties. His work is broad as human life. He stands by the bed of sickness; he weeps with the mourners when the last flutter of life is stilled, and strives to lift their eyes to the victor over death; he warns the impenitent of coming woe. It is his to deal with the highest and holiest emotions of the heart. And how can he touch these delicate chords gently, but firmly—not shrinking from the infliction of necessary pain, yet never causing a tear to flow “in the mere wantonness of grief”—unless he has passed through sorrow’s deep waters? He must have unfeigned sympathy for all, and be able to express it plainly and tenderly.
This power, both of feeling and expression, may be greatly increased by exercise. If the preacher will enter the abodes of rich and poor alike, and take a friendly interest in their hopes and fears, their joys and sorrows, he will find his heart drawn out toward them, and when he addresses them in public, it will be with far more intense anxiety for their good than if they were strangers. It will be comparatively easy for him to throw his heart into all he says.
There are two methods of cultivating genuine emotion that we would cordially recommend to all desirous of swaying the hearts of the people. The first is prayer. We need not enlarge on its general benefits, but will notice its effect on sacred oratory. The man who often addresses God in prayer is in the very best school of eloquence. It brings us close to Him, and in the awful light of His purity, we more clearly see anything that is bad in our hearts and strive to cast it out. As we pray for others, and spread their needs before him, we cannot fail to be inspired with a stronger desire for their welfare. Then, too, religion becomes something more than a mere form of words, and our hearts burnwith a stronger flame. We speak now of prayer as it should be—a warm, pure, fervent outpouring of the heart to God. This is more difficult in the public congregation, for then many disturbing elements are brought to bear on the person praying. The listening people are apt to be in the preacher’s thoughts, and prevent him from enjoying simple and direct communion with heaven. It is the prayer “when none but God is nigh,” that will stir his heart to its profoundest depths and put his mind in the right frame for delivering his sermons. Let any one pray earnestly for help from above all the time his sermons are in course of preparation, and he will be surprised to find how much of the coldness and deadness supposed to belong to this species of composition will be swept away, and how beautifully over all will be spread the vivid charm of real experience. Yet we must not restrict our prayers to this time, for God may not meet us in loving friendship if we only approach him when we have a favor to ask. To reap the full benefit of prayer, it should be a habit woven into our life, and continued on every occasion. This will rebuke sinful ambition and moderate that sensitiveness which has reference to the opinions of our fellow-beings. Thus armed, the preacher will come as the messenger of God, rather than the caterer to men’s fancies. And from the mere operation of natural causes, he will speak with a boldness and earnestness that will draw the hearts of men as the magnet does the steel.
But prayer is far more than the means of cultivating emotion. There is a direct influence that comes from God to man. The power of the Holy Spirit is no fable. A heavenly anointing is sent down—an unction that gives sweetness and power even to the most commonplace words. It is not bestowed unasked, for God desires that we should feel the need of His high gifts before they are granted. But when humbly implored, there is often breathed an influence from above, mighty to sustain the faithful minister in his task. What an encouraging but awful thought! God himself stands by us in the time of our weakness and gives usHis strength. If the minister would always go to the pulpit with this assurance, he would not fear the mass of upturned faces, but calmly view them with a heart stayed on the Master whose work he has to do.
The Spirit’s presence will not in the least absolve us from the need of complete preparation. In nothing is it more true that God helps those who help themselves. All that we contend for is such an influence as will cause the words uttered to penetrate the souls of those for whom they were spoken, remove the fear of man from the preacher’s heart, and make him bold in speaking the truth. It may be that clearer knowledge will be given, and the most fitting selection of words suggested, but this can only be hoped for after all preparation is made. God does not duplicate his work, and that which he gives man faculties to discover, he will not afterward bring to him by an express revelation.
The second method of imparting unction and feeling to the coldness of thought, is by meditating on the great truths and promises of Christianity. This subject is well treated in Baxter’s “Saint’s Rest,” though not with reference to the wants of the orator. The power of long-continued and earnest meditation varies in different persons, but all can acquire it to some degree. It may be defined as a method of transporting ones-self from a sense of the present reality to an ideal situation—reaching and experiencing the feelings that would naturally arise in that situation. Thus we may experience some of the pleasures of heaven and the society of the blest. We may walk the plains of Galilee with the Lord and behold his wondrous love there manifested, almost as if we mingled with the throng who hung on his gracious words; we may turn to the time of our own conversion, and recall the passage from despair to conscious life; or look forward to the day of our death, and think of its mingled sorrow and triumph. It is a kind of waking dream by which the mind is filled with one idea to the exclusion of all others. And when we select some high object of contemplation and return often to it, we acquire a susceptibilityof strong and fervent emotion on that subject which it requires only a word to arouse. An illustration of this is often found in the case of an inventor or discoverer who has dwelt on one subject until his whole mind is filled with it, and he cannot hear it mentioned without the deepest feeling. However cold and listless he may be on other subjects, touch but the sacred one of his fancy, and his sparkling eye and animated voice tell how deeply you have roused the whole man. What an advantage it must be to the extempore speaker, with whom everything depends on feeling, to have all the cardinal facts he proclaims surrounded by fountains of holy emotion, continually supplied from the spring of meditation, and ready to flow copiously at the slightest touch! Such trains of thought may be carried on in moments too often given to idleness, and thus, not only will a mighty power be added to our pulpit ministrations, but our whole life ennobled and enriched. It has been conjectured that Milton’s mind, while composing “Paradise Lost,” existed in the state of a sublime waking dream, in which the forms of heaven and hell, chaos and creation, all mingled in one glorious vision. Something of this nature, though not necessarily continuous, must take place in the mental history of every true and powerful Christian minister.
CHAPTER IV.ACQUIREMENTS.—KNOWLEDGE, GENERAL—OF BIBLE, OF THEOLOGY, OF MEN.
Thought is the workman of the mind, and requires materials upon which to labor. We are such creatures of experience that we cannot go far beyond a foundation of fact, or weave long trains of pure imagination. In the wildest fiction the mind can only combine and rearrange what was previously known. This necessity rests with added weight upon the preacher. He cannot invent his materials in the sense the poet can, but must confine himself to the statement of unadulterated truth. Fortunately, he has no narrow field to explore, for all knowledge is related to his themes. He has to speak of God, by whom everything exists, and whose glory shines through all the works of his hand. The truths he utters apply to the whole circle of life and its duties, yet are so familiar and so often neglected, that he needs all his power to make them touch the popular heart. There is no science that may not at times be made available for illustrating or enforcing the word of God.
The want of extended knowledge will be more severely felt by an extempore preacher, than by one who reads or recites. The latter has time for selection, and may take the parts of a subject with which he is familiar and pass over all others. But the former will find this very dangerous. Extemporizing should be free and unfettered. The speaker must be able to see his own way, and make it clear to his hearers. If he is always anxious to avoid dangerous obstructionsand steer around them, he will lose that free flow of ideas in which much of the beauty of unstudied speech consists. Let the man, therefore, who looks to the preacher’s vocation, lay the foundation broad and deep in a complete education, not only in that of the schools, for the knowledge they teach is very defective, but let him know all the facts that hinge on common life; the processes of the different pursuits and trades; the subjects that most occupy the human mind; the arts and sciences in their wide departments. We have no hesitation in affirming that preaching ought to be more scientific than it often is; that is, when the preacher deals with the phenomena of nature, he should speak of them in their true form, as revealed by science, and not indulge in loose generalities or popular misstatements. If he master these and all other branches of knowledge, he will have at hand a fund of illustration that will never grow old, and instead of being under the necessity of turning over books of sermons, and hunting out figures of speech that have done duty for generations, he will be supplied from nature’s great volume with those that are ever fresh and new. They will be redolent of the morning dew, the sparkle of sunlight, the life of humanity, rather than the must of books.
This knowledge constitutes only the rough material of thought. It is the dust out of which the body is to be formed, and into which the breath of life is to be breathed. The power of thinking comes from no accumulated intellectual stores, but springs from the living energy of the soul within. It is above all dead brute force, and fills a world of its own. But we would lay the foundation of success in oratory by giving the mind food, and providing for it a general acquaintance with the universe. This may be superficial, for it is not given to man to be profound in everything, but it will suffice to keep the preacher within the bounds of truth, when, for a time, he leaves his own province.
But within that province, and on all topics he undertakesto discuss, his knowledge should not be superficial. He must here hold out no false light to lure mankind, but must speak because he knows the truth, and feels that others ought to know it. He will then speak—and in his own department he has the right to speak—“not as the Scribes and Pharisees, but as one having authority.”
To this end the preacher must study the Bible most thoroughly. It is the book from which he obtains his subjects, and the most powerful arguments by which they are enforced. He must meditate on it by day and night with earnest, loving zeal. There is not much profit in merely reading it through once or twice a year. Read it prayerfully. Study the sense. Strive to make it a living book. Realize the scenes it describes, the events it records, and the deep mysteries it unfolds. There is no study that will increase oratorical power more rapidly than the investigation of the Holy Scriptures. They are the best models of eloquence, the exhaustless armory from which the preacher draws his weapons. To be “mighty in the Scriptures” is one of the highest recommendations he can have; and, on the other hand, ignorance of the book it will be his life labor to expound, is unpardonable, and will expose him to merited contempt.
Many books will be needed in forming a critical, living comprehension of the Bible. The student should become familiar with the present aspect of Palestine and the manners and customs of former ages. Judicious commentaries will help him to penetrate through the covering which thoughtlessness and familiarity have woven over the sacred page, down to its vital meaning. Ancient history and Bible dictionaries will make plain many obscure passages. But above all, the Holy Spirit throws a flood of light over the whole book, and makes its dark places shine with the radiance of truth. Get this first, in a living baptism, and all else will be easy.
A knowledge of Theology is essential. It comes not with the same authority as the Word, for it is only man’s interpretationof what God has revealed, and no one has a right to bind others by the rule of his own weak judgment. Yet we cannot despise assistance even here. He would be very foolish who would insist on ignoring the light of science and the accumulated lore of ages, that he might discover all truth for himself. Life is so short and man’s intellect so slow, that an individual standing alone would never get beyond the state of a savage. We can weigh the evidence of truth in an hour that has taken years or ages to discover. There is no way but to accept the aid of others even in the matters that relate to God and our own souls, and use it to build up a complete system of knowledge, being careful not to surrender our independence of thought, nor do violence to our conscience.
The knowledge of what men have thought and done in the field of revelation is indispensable. Without some degree of it no man is prepared for the sacred office. It need not all be attained before beginning to preach, but should be a constant aim. The preacher should always be a diligent student. He will never reach the end. Even when his head is whitening for the grave he will find the book of God an unexhausted mine, and the interest of newly-discovered truth will impart such charm and vigor to his discourses that they will never grow old. Theology is a vast science, embracing all others—an infinite field where man may exert all his powers, and never cease for want of new realms to explore.
The preacher labors in the field of humanity, and aims to better the present and future condition of mankind. He needs to understand his ground, as well as the instruments of his labor. It is through him that divine truth reaches the hearts of the multitude. Unless he can cause the people to think new thoughts, and be ruled by new motives, wisdom and learning and brilliancy are all in vain. A knowledge of the heart, and of the best methods of reaching it, are of first importance. No matter if the preacher speaks a truth; unless that particular truth has an adaptation tothe present wants of those whom he addresses, it will be, in a great measure, unfruitful. The love of God, the story of the Cross, with many other things revealed in the Bible, are suited to all ages and all men. But the consolations intended for a time of sorrow would fall strangely on the ear of a bridal party. Exhortations to repentance would be lost upon a congregation of sincere Christians. Different shades of experience need to be met by appropriate instruction; and the minister who does not watch all changing circumstances, and carefully adapt his words to them, will fail of the highest usefulness. It may be objected that, in large assemblies, the presentation of any truth will benefit some person, and that all cannot be reached at once. This is partly true; but the attentive minister will find currents of thought moving in his congregation from day to day, and will be surprised to see how often the people are thinking about the same objects. At one time, the minds of many will be tinged with unbelief; at another, spiritualism will have its votaries; and again, genuine, earnest searching for the truth will be apparent. He, who so thoroughly knows the heart that he can detect the signs of these changes, has the advantage possessed by a general who is acquainted with all the plans of his antagonist. A close observer once said that a certain minister would never be a revivalist, because he did not seem to understand the movements of the Spirit. There was truth in his judgment, although the deficiency was rather in understanding human nature. That preacher who can look over his congregation as he speaks, and discern something of the state of their hearts, can strike directly to the mark, while the strength of another might be wasted.
A general knowledge of the motives by which men are governed will also be of service. We must employ proper arguments when we seek to influence our hearers, for truth may be so presented as to repel rather than attract. We should know how to appeal to self-interest, for most follow what they believe to be its dictates. We should be able toexcite their love and sympathy; in short, we ought to ascertain what motive is powerful enough to move them, and employ it. This quick and accurate knowledge of the heart is especially valuable to the man who preaches without notes. Looking into the eyes of the congregation, he will see their passing thoughts and emotions often indicated with great precision. He will thus know when it is best to dwell on any particular argument, and can press it home, or leave it, before the audience is wearied. He will, all the time, have the advantage of seeing his way distinctly, instead of stumbling along like a blind man who is conscious of no obstacle until brought into contact with it. To reap this profit, he must be able to read the expressions and changes that the heart throws over the countenance—visible signs of its own state.
The proper way to obtain a practical knowledge of men is to mingle with and study them. A preacher has great opportunities for this. He need not fear to lower his dignity or impair his influence by a free and easy intercourse with all classes. The people have acute perceptions, and will give him credit for all that is good in him; and he has no right to demand more. Indeed, if he have not native goodness and intelligence enough to retain the confidence of his people in the closest social intercourse, the sooner he relinquishes his office the better for all concerned. It is no excuse to say that he cannot spare time from his studies; for no labor will more surely bring a return of added power and eloquence than the study of his flock around their own hearths. The best books are only transcripts of the human heart, and here he can study the original in all its freshness.
But merely to mingle with the people will not fully cultivate this critical knowledge of character, unless it is made a particular study. A good way of doing this is to write down our first thoughts and impressions of persons we come in contact with, and test our correctness by subsequent experience. We thus discover the source of our errors, and avoid them in future, and, at the same time, form a habitof observation which, if continued for years, will increase the acuteness of our perceptions until we are able to read men at the first glance.
But most valuable of all means for attaining this power, is a thorough, practical acquaintance with Phrenology. Much ridicule has been thrown on this science by traveling imposters, who have practiced character-reading, together with witchcraft and fortune-telling—just as astronomy and astrology were once joined. But such associations are not more necessary than that sometimes supposed to exist between geology and unbelief. Phrenology is a branch of the inductive sciences, established and tested by observation and experiment. Its two cardinal principles are: First, that the brain is the organ of mind; second, that different mental functions are performed by different parts of the brain. The latter is no more unreasonable than to suppose that the different bodily actions, walking, lifting, eating, smelling, etc., are performed by different parts of the body. The first proposition is admitted by all; and if the second is allowed to be reasonable, it then becomes easy to determine whether the correspondence of faculty and organ in any case is sufficiently proved. The poets, Whittier and Bryant, Horace Greeley and the eminent educator, Horace Mann, all professed to derive great advantage from the study. Henry Ward Beecher, who stands among the first of living orators, attributes all his power “in making sermonsfit” to the early and constant study of Phrenology. It is an instructive fact, that although the different organs were discovered singly and at long intervals, yet when the contributions of many laborers have been brought together, the result is a most beautiful and perfect mental philosophy—contrasting with the warring systems of metaphysics as the clear sunlight does with clouds and night. We give it as a deliberate opinion that it is better for the preacher to remain ignorant of any one of the natural sciences or learned languages, than to neglect that study which unfolds the laws of mind and teaches us to understand our fellow men.