really evasion of the question. The moral relation of the preacher to the truth he holds, must be otherwise determined. Unless we can find some broad and far-reaching principle from which to derive it, it is idle to talk of the "ethics of pulpit instruction," and we must concede that pulpit instruction has only its "politics.". When the mechanic has discovered the secret of a new machine which will benefit his race, he cannot rest till he has perfected his idea in outward shape, and given his invention to mankind. When the scientist has discovered some hitherto unknown truth in science, he is moved irresistibly to publish it. When the philosopher has conceived a system which he thinks will reduce the tangled elements of human knowledge to unity and order, he is impelled to make it known. When the artist has dreamed a dream of beauty in form or color, he burns to immortalize it in the marble or on the canvas, that it may give delight to the eyes of all. When the poet has been thrilled with a heavenly vision, his heart preys upon itself, until he has set his idea to music, and sung it to the charmed world. When the prophet is fired with a great thought, or kindled by a great moral truth, which he knows will make mankind wiser, happier, or better, he can find no peace till he has put his idea into burning words, and poured them into the hearts of his fellow-men. Shall we call this inward impulse the mere calculation of "self-interest well understood," and account for it by the desire of fame or profit, or other selfish gain? Away with such suspicious and shallow utilitarianism! In all, let us recognize a deeper, a nobler motive. A lofty, uncalculating conviction of duty, however conjoined with other impulses, lies at the bottom of this instinct to impart; and every great soul feels profoundly its solemn obligation. The mechanic, the scientist, the philosopher, the artist, the poet, the prophet, are all bound by the universal law of expression. Whoever, of great gifts or of little gifts, violates this law, and forbears to give what has been given, whoever keeps to himself what may in any way help or better the world, falls justly under the general condemnation of mankind. Here is the burden of the para - ble of the talents. Milton means this, when he speaks of his genius as "that one talent which is death to hide." Jesus also meant this, when (if the report be trusty) he dropped that saying, every whit worthy of him, "To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness to the truth." Such is always the feeling of the deep seer and faithful sayer, to whom this stands as a divine law: The God-given power to see truth is God's command to utter it. Hence the brave old "Thus saith the Lord." He who suffers a great thought to die with him, though to-morrow it be born again in some other soul, robs the world of that which is the world's as much as his. We have no proprietorship in truth; we are but trustees for humanity, custodians for an hour of that which is humanity's for all time. Not to recognize this; not to feel, down to the soul's depths, that the power of vision contains the duty of speech, is the mark of a base, a miserly, a sordid spirit. Truth rots on our hands, if hoarded. Like the fabled manna from heaven, it will not keep over night; but must be gathered fresh every morning, and unstintedly used every day. To see, and not to tell! To know that the world is stumbling in night, and yet thrust our candle into a dark lantern, that its beam may fall only on our own path! Truth that is food to the one shall not be poison to the many that fear is always folly. Shall we quench the torch, in dread lest a falling spark set on fire the course of nature? Is the universe, then, so combustible? If the conflagration spreads, if the flame and the smoke fill the skies, let us believe that the world had need to be well burned over, that the stubble and rubbish and rotten brushwood of the autumn needed to be consumed, to make room betimes for the tender herbage of the spring. The hammer of the image-breaker can reach but to idols: there is no ground for fear lest God be put to death. Providence will survive the boldest word. Terror is the worst atheism. Sunk, then, be "policy" and "prudence," in the speaking of conviction! There is no wisdom, but only blear-eyed folly and weak-kneed cowardice and black-hearted treason, in suppression of testimony. Neither fear nor expe diency, neither selfish tenderness for our own ease nor unwise concern for other people's ease, should stifle one word of manly and modest avowal. The world has no bribe big enough to pay for one hour of bought silence. By entering the witness-stand of the pulpit, the preacher takes oath before the universe to speak "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," and must stand most searching crossexamination in the court of the universal conscience. Let his whole testimony of thought and feeling, word and bearing, be a brave and simple witness to the truth; and if his honest witness trips on a stammering tongue, or falters itself out in broken words, let him remember that he testifies before the perfect Linguist, that masters all forms of speech, respects the dumb eloquence of faithful purpose, and, quite as well as the smooth periods of the orator, comprehends the inarticulate lispings of the tongue-tied, and the voiceless pantomime of the deaf mute. We are not bound to achieve an absolutely faultless or adequate utterance of our truth: who can achieve that? But we are bound, without fear or favor, to give our best expression of our best thought. Less than that is recreancy to a high trust, treason to truth, disloyalty to God. Policy may count cost and weigh consequences: principle, never. Is there, then, no middle course between deliberate and complete suppression of testimony, and immediate, full, and frank proclamation of it? Is there no sagacious union of silence and speech, policy and principle? Is there no golden mean, no judicious compromise between them, which shall throw a sop to growling conscience, yet not alarm fear or rouse opposition? It is precisely here that the preacher meets temptation in its most insidious form; his spiritual integrity is assailed most dangerously at this very point. Conscience itself is easily beguiled into appearing as "devil's advocate" in this case. It looks so suicidal to draw the fire of prejudice before reason has had time to deploy her forces, it seems so impolitic to make enemies when one wishes to make friends, that it needs a sublime faith in the power of truth to carry one safely over this moral pithole. If conscience is hoodwinked by her wily foe, and made to tumble into the snare, it is a reason, not for denunciation, but for pity and deep sadness. Give policy an inch, and it takes an ell; begin to calculate, and the habit grows apace. There is to the preacher no safety from moral deterioration, but unconditional surrender to truth. Moral courage cannot breathe the crass atmosphere of calculation. What is more mournful than to see generous enthusiasm cooling down to the average temperature? The men who have electrified the world are those who have sacredly obeyed their inspirations, and dared to be impolitic. The least compromise of principle with policy always involves, even as a matter of policy itself, a grave miscalculation of results. Grant that immediate evil as well as good follows the blast of every trumpet that gives no uncertain sound; grant that cowards and bounty-jumpers take it as the signal for deserting the ranks; grant that it works partial disorganization in the army, by starting a stampede among bummers and camp-followers, is it not true that the army's morale is enhanced by purification from all but veterans and reliable recruits? A handful of heroes is worth a host of faint-hearts. Whatever ills befall the preacher or his flock, in consequence of bold adhesion to the cause of human progress, be very sure that in the long-run, in the final issue of things, the great moral spectacle of incorruptible fidelity to truth infinitely outweighs, in true service to this cause, the petty advantage of apparent and brief prosperity at truth's expense. If such men fail, they make their failure a Thermopylæ. It cannot be overlooked, however, that, even among those preachers who mean on the whole to be faithful to their best insight, two theories of pulpit instruction exist. One theory is to treat the society like a child, study its average condition, and administer to it only so much truth in one dose as is judged to be safe, reserving more advanced truth for the future: in other words, to break the truth to the people by degrees, and thus gradually "educate them up to it." But the society is not a child. It consists of many minds, in many stages of development; and it is impossible. to average its intelligence so as to adapt preaching to it. The most striking feature of this theory is the amazing selfcomplacency it implies. Let the ablest mind in America. concentrate all its powers, and it cannot overshoot the wants, the real wants, of even a village congregation. By all means let the preacher beware of lowering himself to find his audience. His highest thought is none too high for it, if simply put; his deepest thought is none too deep. He shows little policy and less principle, if he hangs his flag at half-mast. What society, furthermore, would ever settle a minister who should plainly tell them that he should only preach so much truth as he thought they could bear? Assuredly not one. If, then, a minister settles over a society with a theory of preaching which he could not venture to state in public, is there no insincerity in his conduct? Yet, on the other hand, what liberal society would refuse to settle a minister who should only demand perfect liberty of utterance for his profoundest convictions? If, after the candidate had boldly showed his colors, he had nevertheless received a hearty "call," such a stipulation would only increase their respect for him. The moment we look at the matter from the congregation's point of view, we see plainly enough that the theory of preaching under consideration is an oil-and-water admixture of principle and policy, in which policy largely predominates. It is a theory which cannot be squared with high-toned sincerity. The other theory is to treat the society as an assemblage of men and women, who desire the best instruction their minister can give, to study only the best expression of the best truth in the best spirit, and preach this unreservedly from the pulpit, leaving all care for consequences to the God of truth. This alone is the theory of unadulterated principle. The preacher has no business to discriminate between "safe" and "unsafe" truth: his business is to preach unflinchingly the truth as he sees it, without asking any questions about its safety. All truth is safe: it is error and sin that are dangerous. The parish is not an infant-school, to be coaxed into learning its A B C. Has it not been the trick of priestcraft, |