Part 18

A few words respecting the Madison Avenue Church and its pastor will help our readers to understand the case. The church was founded a dozen or more years ago by Dr. Hepworth, who up to about that time had been a Unitarian clergyman. It was a very expensive enterprise, and Dr. Hepworth became satisfied, after a few years, that he could neither fill the church with an audience nor pay its debt. Dr. W. R. Davis, who had been a Methodist clergyman, and is now a Dutch Reformed pastor in Albany, N. Y., succeeded Dr. Hepworth, and, after a few years of experience like that of his predecessor, hunted up a successor in the person of Dr. Newman, and resigned. There were two distinct difficulties in both these pastorates. One was the large debt; the other was the failure to secure adequate audiences. The last difficulty suggests no fault in either of the pastors. Both were gifted and popular. But the church is surrounded by other churches, and only an extraordinary man can secure a large body of hearers in it. The church was not at fault for not paying its debt; the burden was beyond its strength. When it asked Dr. Newman to become its pastor, it asked him for two reasons: He had friends who could pay the debt, and he would bring these friends into the church and congregation; and it was well understood that he could fill the large house with hearers.

Rev. Dr. John P. Newman has a national reputation as a pulpit orator. He always has full houses where he statedly preaches. Among his friends he numbers General Grant, whose pastor he was in Washington in the days of Grant’s presidency. The ex-president is one of the men whom Dr. Newman took into the Madison Avenue congregation and made a trustee of the church property. Dr. Newman is one of the last of the classical pulpit orators. His style is stately, his presence majestic. Pure taste and high ideals characterize his thought. His noble person, his rich, smooth voice, and the elevation of his thought conspire to make him admired and reverenced in the pulpit. His ardent friends have called him “the Chrysostom of his age.” Not unnaturally, he has expected the highest places in Methodism. Neither Webster nor Clay became President of the United States—and John P. Newman did not become a bishop. Some difficulties arose respecting a place for him in New York three years ago, he having then finished his term as pastor of the Central Methodist Church. After a year of decorous waiting, he accepted the call to the Madison Avenue Church. There are controversies about sundry minor matters; but after painfully laboring through the documents, we find two clear facts: 1st. From the start Dr. Newman has clung to the idea of remaining a Methodist while becoming a Congregationalist; 2d, there is an abundant lack of proof that in this policy he has deceived any one or done any other act which is inconsistent with the character which he displays in the pulpit. A single sentence in his address before the council was out of place; but, even it, from his point of view, had great provocation. To the onlooking public, perhaps to Dr. Newman also, it was a surprise to see the editor of the _Christian Advocate_ furnishing material for use against Dr. Newman. This new party to the controversy presents the Methodists as semi-officially engaged in the effort to crowd Dr. Newman from his attitude as holding positions in two denominations. The justification of the editor of the _Christian Advocate_ can not rest on any special pleading; it must rest on the ground that Dr. Newman’s claim is a bad one in church moralities. If this be true, then his Methodist antagonist has discharged a disagreeable duty and “meddled” for a dignified purpose.

The church quarrel did not originate in the new position of Dr. Newman, but the conflict having begun, this new position was made the point of attack by what is called the “Anti-Newman party.” It was the weak place because Dr. Newman had taken a new departure. The quarrel came out of the incompatibility of temper and interest developed between the old and the new elements in the church and congregation. Some of the old men left; the new were then more numerous and powerful than the old. The latter saw themselves gradually retiring to back seats, while the new men filled the front seats. They precipitated a conflict to secure themselves against the consequences of Dr. Newman’s abundant success. In the wisdom of this world, the new element put off paying the large debt; but they preferred to be certain that they would be left in peaceable possession after paying the debt.

The council has “advised” that Dr. Newman is in an untenable position—is not the permanent pastor. The advice is probably according to precedent. But it was not according to precedent that Dr. Hepworth left the Unitarians, and Dr. Davis the Methodists, to become pastor of that church. And for forty years there has been an increasing interflow between denominations. Half a score of ex-Methodists, including some of the ablest pastors in the city, are preaching in churches of other denominations. Ministers and members pass and repass between denominations. All this would have looked strange forty years ago. Perhaps Dr. Newman’s new idea may not look strange forty years hence. The advice of the council has probably only changed the form of the conflict which does not depend on Dr. Newman, but on the antagonism of the old and new elements in the congregation. We should like to see Dr. Newman’s theory thoroughly tested, and Congregationalism is liberal enough to afford the desired test. Methodism, as a whole, has no reason for jealousy of Dr. Newman’s success in the Madison Avenue Church. His success and good fame reflect honor on all Methodist preachers. We may come to realize that if a man is “worthy of confidence and fellowship by virtue of his responsible connection with some other body of Christian churches”—words quoted by the late council—he may safely “be counted a minister of the Congregational,” or any other “order.”

SUPERFLUOUS KNOWLEDGE.

A writer in _Cornhill Magazine_, some years ago, facetiously suggested that, while societies for the acquisition of useful knowledge abounded, each, doubtless, in its way, proving of eminent service to mankind, another society, not so much as a direct opponent, but rather as a proper, and even necessary, corrective of its rivals, should be organized, the object of which should be to sift out and to suppress the vast and ever increasing accumulations of knowledge that are not only really worthless but which are an unmitigated nuisance, a useless burden, a confused and baffling heap.

The suggestion above referred to, made perhaps in jest, is one, we venture to suggest, which might well be made in earnest. Useless knowledge! Has it never occurred to the reader what areas, and even continents, not to say oceans of valueless, of absolutely superfluous knowledge there are in the world? Observe we are not now writing of literature, or books, merely; we say knowledge.

Useless knowledge! For everything that may, with any kind of propriety, be comprehended under this honored term, knowledge, we usually cherish a profound and reverent respect. The highest conception of scholarship, on the part of many, consists in being possessed of encyclopedic information concerning the details of almost every conceivable matter.

According to this idea learning consists in an intimate acquaintance, at once and quite indiscriminately, with all the results of the latest scientific research, the facts of universal history, the mysteries of theology and subtleties of metaphysics; with all the institutes of law and politics; with all the literature of poetry and art.

To one entertaining such an idea of scholarship as this how positively depressing must be the monstrous and obviously ever-accumulating mass of facts heaping up around him. He quite envies the great men of the olden time who, in consequence of the then comparatively narrow range of knowledge, found it not impracticable to maintain a creditable standing at once as statesmen, soldiers, poets, philosophers, and artists; while he, in his day, can serve, at best, only as an infinitesimal wheel in a machinery of boundless complication.

Even were it desirable to burden the mind with boundless mental acquisitions, one certainly has not long to live to discover the utter futility of even the most capacious memory ever being able to compass any such result—to learn that the human mind, whatever its capabilities, is yet finite; that it is, therefore, the part of wisdom to select some one department of study and devote one’s energies mainly to the mastery of the same; and that, finally, one essential condition of usefulness depends on one’s thus wisely restricting himself to a comparatively narrow and limited field of inquiry and of attainment.

In the meantime it should be distinctly understood that true scholarship does not, by any means, consist in thus knowing absolutely everything. The popular idea that learning consists in being a walking repository of all sorts of curious and of more or less ill-assorted erudition, is a most childish error. Scholarship may, perhaps, be properly defined as knowing _something_ about almost everything; but more especially every thing _about some one thing_. This is the true university idea. Some one has defined the university as being the school where _something_ could be learned about everything, and _everything_ about some _one_ thing. In other words, true scholarship consists in having just so much learning as one can not only digest and master but effectively use in connection with his own special work, or mission in life; in having the keys, if you please, that shall unlock and open up to one at will all the varied stores of knowledge; and more especially in being the undisputed master of just so much and of just such knowledge as he can himself best utilize. Just as no mechanic cares to encumber himself with more tools, or the soldier with more weapons, than he can advantageously use, so no true scholar, in our judgment, will covet more knowledge than he can render properly, wisely, available for service. Why, indeed, may not too much of a good thing, as well as too little—_l’embarrassment de richesse_ as well as the embarrassment of poverty—prove not a help but a burden, not a source of power but an occasion of weakness and a cause of stumbling?

Let no one, therefore, be tempted to envy the attainments of certain knowing ones in those walks of literature, or of science, to which he is for the most a stranger; and, because of his ignorance comparatively on certain special lines of study and intellectual inquiry, to depreciate himself as a scholar. Rather, on the other hand, while thankful that, in your own chosen sphere, you have been enabled to give a good account of yourself and to render some service, however humble, to your kind, you should also rejoice that others have been called to explore fields of thought and inquiry by your feet as yet untrod.

Who that, a few years ago, at the great Exposition at Philadelphia, walked through those acres of textile fabrics, miles of most ingenious machinery, and thousands of square yards of painting, but must have been profoundly impressed with the narrow limits of his own knowledge and attainments. And yet who, if really a sensible person, instead of feeling mortified and chagrined at all on this account, but was moved rather, at every step, silently to give thanks that here was presented another, and yet another branch of knowledge or industry concerning which it was his privilege to remain in profound and most contented ignorance? Why, indeed, should it be deemed specially important that, in order richly and intelligently to enjoy that marvellous display of the products of all nations, one should be altogether conversant with the Chinese puzzle, or versed in all the arts of sub-soiling, top-dressing, tile-draining, or stock-raising?

Let the dictionaries, therefore, and the encyclopædias, the archives and the libraries, for the most part, serve as the treasure-houses of the materials of knowledge—especially of all more strictly technical and curious lore, properly classified, indexed, assorted, accessible. Let it be the part of scholarship, if you please, exhaustively to explore certain departments of learning as specialties; but to be content, meantime, as a general thing, to know where, and how readily to find, and to be able wisely to appropriate, and effectually to employ, as occasion may require, this accumulated and duly sifted and organized learning of the ages.

EDITOR’S NOTE-BOOK.

The discovery of a manuscript copy of “The Teachings of the Twelve Apostles,” a Christian compilation of the second century, has created a general expectation of new and better light by means of it, on early Christian history. The portions of this manuscript which have been published in this country are too brief to afford much satisfaction. The genuineness of the document is vouched for by Professor Harnack, of Giessen, one of the foremost patristic scholars. If there were not a general disposition to believe the manuscript to be genuine, we might note some circumstances as suspicious. Professor Harnack has believed and taught that such a book probably existed in the early centuries. If we were suspicious we should wonder whether another Saphira has not undertaken, of his own avaricious motion, to find what a great patristic scholar believes to exist—and to make discovery certain by constructing the desired document himself. No breath of suspicion taints the atmosphere, and the finding of the manuscript is regarded as a strong proof of the rare learning and sound judgment of Professor Harnack. But until the whole document, in the Original Greek, with a history of its discovery, has passed under the eyes of many scholars, it will be wise to keep our judgments in suspense respecting the genuineness and the importance of the document.

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The new Congregational creed has been received with a good deal of favor. The aim of it is in the right direction; we leave others to decide whether or not it hits its mark. Theology consists of doctrines and explanations of doctrines. The aim of the authors of the new creed is to make a statement of doctrines, leaving explanations of doctrines to the field of liberty. It happens that the larger half of most creeds make doctrines out of explanations. For example, the deity of Jesus Christ is a doctrine; but along with it we hold a number of explanations of the doctrine. The atonement is a doctrine; but three-fourths of the texts of the creeds, on this subject, are explanatory theses. That Christ _died for us_ according to the Scriptures is doctrine; but the various theories called “Governmental,” “Substitutional,” “Moral Influence,” etc., are explanatory. That the Bible is God’s book, revealing Him and His law is doctrine; but the separation of the printers’ and proof-readers’ mistakes—that is all the failure in the human making-up of the book—proceeds by way of explanatory theology. If tolerably clear lines can be drawn between doctrine and explanation—we are not sure such a line can be drawn—then evangelical Christendom can have a common creed at once. The doctrinal unity exists in fact; we are only waiting for some one to state the doctrines clearly, leaving us to differ concerning the explanations. The new Congregational creed may prove to be a rough first sketch of the creed of Christendom. There is no doubt that the great body of Christians, though ranked in distinct divisions, has a common faith. Some symbolic expression of that faith is to be expected—is probably near at hand.

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A shocking piece of news is that several women were recently attacked, and two of them killed, by wolves. That is bad enough, surely; but a greater shock will be experienced by the general reader when we add that the scene of this tragic incident was in southern Italy! Our habitual associations of Italian things are music, sculpture, architecture, and other high humanities, all overarched by beautiful sunshine. Most of us hardly realize that there has been a wolf in Italy since the demise of the one which suckled the boys who founded Rome. But in fact wolves and other ferocious beasts still reign in the Italian mountains, along with the brigands. The latter are not as numerous as when Spartacus collected an army of them which defeated Roman armies within sight of Naples. But the brigand is, like the wolf, an unconquerable element in Italian life. A few months ago, an Italian nobleman was captured by brigands who exacted and obtained fifty thousand dollars for restoring him to the bosom of his family. Add brigands and wolves to your “pictures from Italy.”

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The regulation of railroad traffic has made more progress than the general public supposes. In Massachusetts, for instance, the Board of Railroad Commissioners say in their last report to the legislature that “No charge of unreasonable preference or discrimination by a lower charge for the longer haul has this year been brought before the board, except in two cases, where the evidence wholly failed to support the charges.” The Massachusetts system of supervision was founded twelve years ago by C. F. Adams, and the results obtained by him and his successors in office show clearly that an intelligent and judicious supervision by state authority benefits both parties—the railroads and their customers. But—and this point is the reason of the success in Massachusetts—there has not been one ounce of demagogism in the action of the commissioners.

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The decision of the United States Supreme Court that Congress may issue paper money at its discretion has been received with lugubrious prophecies by a part of the press. It is probably good for us that the decision has been rendered now rather than a few years later—and it was certain to come. The good of it is, we know clearly what the powers and responsibilities of Congress are in regard to money. We can select our Congressmen with a plain and full understanding of their functions. The doubt which has hung over this subject for several years has had an unwholesome effect—“unsettled questions have no mercy on the peace of nations.” The people of this country are conservative under well defined responsibilities. Perhaps the prophets of evil have too little faith in the popular sense and conscience.

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There is no sympathy in this country with the Irish dynamiters; but we are all more or less astonished by the gravity with which English newspapers rail at this country for not preventing the exportation of dynamite. The London _Times_ unconsciously puts its fingers on the proper place for the discovery of such dynamite when it calls attention to the fact that a ninety pound package of the murderous stuff got to London _through a British custom house_. The British custom house is the spot where the watching should be done. If the importation of goods was as closely supervised in England as it is in this country, no dynamite could reach London. We do not watch exportation closely because no export duties are allowed to be levied by the constitution. It is the inward movement, not the outward, for which we have official machinery of supervision. To invent and carry on machinery for watching exports is an expensive business in which we should not engage. It is entirely unnecessary. Let England watch at her own custom houses. If her officers admit dynamite in ninety pound cases, let her improve that branch of her civil service. The _Nation_ very judiciously says: “If the English custom house can not stop the infernal machines, it is folly to ask any foreign police to do it.”

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Our suggestion that laws against intermarriage between races should be repealed (April number) has “shocked” one reader. Our friend does not get shocked at the right time and place. Intermarriage of white and colored persons is very rare, because nature and society exercise adequate restraint. The place for being shocked is in another part of the field. And yet it is an astounding fact that the peoples who are most easily shocked by the marriage of two persons of different races seem not to be shocked by the very large number of illegitimate children of dark skinned mothers. There is an exact parallel in the doctrine of the celibacy of the clergy, and the intense feeling which enforced it, in the days of Hildebrand. A recent writer says of that state of things: “The priest who kept a harem of concubines was simply guilty of a venial sin which did not vitiate his act as a priest; it was the act of marriage, with its more deliberate declaration of principle, which the church could not tolerate.” In both cases, that old case of mock celibacy and the present case of illegitimate mingling of races, the _feeling_ on the subject is very sincere, deep, aggressive, against _marriage_ “with its more deliberate declaration of principle.” But in each case the real evil evades the feeling and defeats its object with demoralizing effects.

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They do some things better in France. The government has ordered observations to be made on strokes of lightning and their effects, by a bureau, using postmasters and others as observers. A report for the first half of 1883 shows that in January there was one lightning stroke which injured a man carrying an umbrella with metal ribs; in February there were no strokes; in March and April, four each month; in May twenty-eight; in June one hundred and thirteen. Seventy animals and seven men were killed, and about forty persons were injured. Lightning rods were treated with contempt, and the electric fluid especially attacked the bells and bell-towers of churches, and in one case blasted the gilt wooden figure of the Christ on a church which had a lightning rod. The second half of the year would of course show a longer chapter of accidents. Why can not we have in this country just such a system of collecting the facts about lightning strokes?

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An interesting set of experiments is reported by Mr. G. H. Darwin, son of the great author of Darwinism, on right-leggedness and left-leggedness. The subject is of more importance than it seems. Most readers will remember that Charles Reade, the novelist, contended in a recent work that right-handedness is a fruit of bad education, and that, if children were not meddled with by nurses and teachers, both sides of the body would be equally strong and skilful. Mr. Darwin blindfolded a group of boys, having first ascertained whether they were right or left handed, and set them to walking toward a mark, leading them straight for three or four paces. All but one swung round to right or left, tending to a circular path, and the right-handed boys turned to the left, and the left-handed boys to the right. The one exception was a boy about equally expert with both hands. He went tolerably straight. Mr. Darwin’s opinion is that right-handed persons are left-legged, because every strong effort by the right hand is attended with a corresponding effort by the left leg. This does not, however, settle the question raised by Mr. Charles Reade; for left-leggedness is only an effect of right-handedness.

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