Chapter IX.

The Power and Accent of Conviction.

The Divine Word has always been the first Power in the World. The Gospel still the first of Books. There can be no Christian Eloquence without the Accent of Personal Conviction.

Hitherto, we may be said to have treated merely of human instrumentality; we must now consider our subject in a higher point of view. Reason, imagination, and sentiment are necessary qualifications to success in our vacation; but we require besides these the power of God, because our aim is to lay hold of and to direct the souls of men. Now, as that mighty genius Bossuet has remarked:--"There is nothing so indomitable as the heart of man. When I see it subdued, I adore." And why? Because he recognized in such submission a superhuman agency.

This power we possess in the Word, which is the power of God; before which every head must bow, and every knee bend, whether on earth, in heaven, or in hell. Armed with the Divine word, our power is immense; only, in order to wield it, we must ourselves be thoroughly penetrated thereby, and, above all, be able to convince others that we are so. It must be felt, seen, and acknowledged that God is with us.

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The Divine word is the foremost power in the world. It has withstood and overcome every other power. ... It has uttered its voice everywhere: in the catacombs, at the foot of the scaffold, under the axe of the executioner, and within the jaws of wild beasts. It has spoken while the feet of the speakers have been drenched in blood. ...

During the middle ages, mighty barons, sheltered behind impregnable strongholds, had cast the network of their sway over the whole of France, and silence was imposed on all lips. Nevertheless, on more than one occasion did the Divine word, in the guise of a priest or monk, venture to ascend the steps of those redoubtable fortresses; and its voice alone sufficed to inspire fear in the breasts of men clad in armor of steel.

There was a king in whom power seemed incarnate. That king was Louis XIV. He dared to say:--"L'état, la France, c'est moi." Under his inspiring look, military genius triumphed in war; poetry begat the sublimest conceptions; canvas spoke; marble was animated; and the arts replenished even the gardens of his royal abode with master-piece s of skill.

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One Sunday, Louis XIV., surrounded by his court, took his seat in the chapel at Versailles, when the preacher boldly uttered from the pulpit those terrible words: "Woe to the rich! Woe to the great!" whereat the monarch lowered his eyes and the courtiers murmured. ... After the sermon, there was some talk of reprimanding the priest for his temerity; but the King remarked, with a justice which does him honor:--"Gentlemen, the preacher has done his duty; it behoves us now to do ours."

We may recognize herein the power of the Divine word; and it is that same word which is on our lips.

What, indeed, is the word of man even in the mouth of the boldest orator, even when set forth in all the brilliancy of its power, when compared with the Divine word? ... Much has been said of the force of Mirabeau's famous apostrophe:--"The communes of France have decided on deliberating. We have heard of the designs which have been suggested to the King; and you, who are not allowed to be his organ with the National Assembly--you who possess neither the standing nor the option, nor the right of speaking--go and tell your master that we are here by the power of the people, and that it shall not be wrested from us except at the point of the bayonet." [Footnote 19]

[Footnote 19: The authenticity of this statement has been questioned.]

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This speech has been eulogized as grand, bold, and even audacious; but, what does it amount to? Any priest might do as much, and say something far better, with greater truth and less arrogance; for there is no priest, however poor and humble he may be, who might not say:--"We are here in God's name, and here we intend to remain, and we will speak in spite of guns and bayonets." ...

But the fact is, we are not adequately convinced of our own power, and of the superiority which we possess over every thing around us; for, with nothing else in our hands but that little book which is called the Gospel, we may bring the world to our feet; inasmuch as the Gospel is, and will continue to be, as regards mankind generally, the first of books.

There are not wanting those who taunt us in this style:--"Ye men of a past age, ye retrogrades, follow in the wake of your own age; strive to progress. We, on our part, have been constantly advancing, especially within the last two centuries ... we have gained ground." ... To this we are justified in replying:--"Very true; the human mind has developed; you have worked hard; you have stirred up thought; you have filled our libraries with first-rate books; there have been some profound thinkers and sublime geniuses among you; and you have given birth to many admirable ideas. All this we admit; nevertheless, show us a book superior to our Gospel, or one which will even bear comparison with it. Tell us where it is to be found. You talk of progress, and bid us follow you; but it is we who are in advance, and you who are behind. ... Begin your studies afresh; do something better; and then come to us again, and we will see. In the meantime, we occupy the foremost place, and are determined to hold it."

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Our power, we maintain, is far above that of any earthly weapons; for the Christian preacher is backed by eighteen centuries of learning and virtue, which believed what he declares by more than ten millions of martyrs, who died to attest the truth of what he proclaims; and, behind all that, he is supported by the mighty voice of God which says to him:--"Speak, and be not afraid, for I am with thee."

It behoves us, therefore, to be thoroughly persuaded of the power which the Divine word confers upon us. But, besides this, we must make our hearers feel that we are so endowed. They must be impressed, while listening to us, that we verily and indeed speak in God's name--that we are not men who have merely cogitated or mused in their studies, and then come forth to propound their own ideas; but that we are commissioned from on high to proclaim to mankind the laws and promises of God, before whom we ourselves profoundly bow. They must read all this in our whole deportment, in our voice, our gestures, and, above all, in our charity. In a word, we must possess _the accent of conviction_, that accent which believes, speaks, arrests, and alarms.

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The accent of conviction is made up of a mixture of faith, power, and love combined; the combination forming a characteristic which is at once simple, pious, and grand, redolent of inspiration and sanctity. It is the power, the life of speech; the sacred fire, or what Mirabeau styles _divinity_ in eloquence. "I have never heard any one speak," said he, referring to Barnave, "so long, so rapidly, and so well; but there is no divinity in him." The accent of conviction is the magic of speech ... that which puts argument to silence, withdraws all attention from the preacher, and fixes it solely on what he says; or rather, on what God says through him.

Unhappily, we are very backward in this respect. There is faith undoubtedly in our souls; but it is not always manifest in our speech. ... How, then, can we expect to make others believe what we do not seem to them to believe ourselves?

We have to deal with a light, reasoning, and somewhat sceptical world, accustomed to regard every one as merely acting a part ... and if you do not possess the accent of conviction, it will either suspect you of hypocrisy, or will brand you by admiring how well you ply _the trade_, and how cleverly you play your game.

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There is a remark very common nowadays, which is much to be regretted. If one speaks of a preacher, he is immediately asked: "Has he faith?" which means: Does he appear to believe what he says? Should the reply be: "No; ... but he is a fine speaker;" the rejoinder generally is: "Then I shall not go to listen to him; for I want to hear somebody who has faith." This observation is not intended to imply any doubt of the inward faith of the preacher, but that he preaches as if he did not believe what he utters.

Let us, however, do the world this justice, that when it meets with the accent of conviction--the bold accent of faith, as Saint Chrysostom calls it,--it is deeply impressed thereby. The preacher who believes and speaks out of that belief, astounds, staggers, and overcomes the gainsayers. A few words uttered with the accent of conviction go much further than many long sermons. How, indeed, can any prevail against one in whom God is felt to dwell? ... Fine language, talent, imagination, brilliant argumentative powers--all these are common enough amongst us, and we are quite accustomed to them; but what is rare, what is unlooked for, what carries every thing before it, is the language of a faith and of a heart which seems to echo the voice of God Himself.

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Two years ago, the late pious and gallant Captain Marceau was present at a meeting of operatives in Paris, many of whom were unbelievers and wrong-headed men. He felt moved to address them, and the impression which he produced was almost magical. He had never before spoken in public; nevertheless, he did so on the occasion referred to with that accent of conviction and candor which finds its way at once to the heart, overcoming all resistance, and sometimes seeming to take away one's breath.

"My friends," said he, "there are doubtless some among you who are not yet Christians, and who have no love for religion. I was once as ungodly as you are--perhaps more so; for no one has hated Christianity more cordially than I have done. I am bound, however, to do it this justice, that while I was not a Christian, that is, till I was twenty-three years old, I was unhappy, profoundly unhappy. ... Up to that period, my friends, I had not lived. No, it was not living ... I worried myself, or, rather, my passions drew or drove me hither and thither, and carried me away; but I did not live ... I was a machine ... but I was not a man. ..."

Strange to say, scarcely any attention is paid to this accent of conviction, which is the soul of all eloquence; more especially of sacred eloquence. Those destined to proclaim the Divine word are instructed in every thing else but this. ... Hence the language from the pulpit is often cold, monotonous, turgid, stiff, cramped, conventional, perfunctory; savoring of a formal compliment, but of nothing to indicate the effusion of a genial soul, and without any of those felicitous sallies of the heart, those insinuating and familiar tones, as Fénélon calls them, which produce in you almost a Divine impression.

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And yet there are many pious priests amongst us, many who are truly men of God. Still, such is the deplorable power of routine, that their piety seems sometimes to abandon them when in the pulpit--the very place where it should be most conspicuous.

Like myself, you have, doubtless, in the course of your life, often met with one of these estimable priests, full of faith and charity. His countenance alone did you good, and his words cheered you alike in familiar conversation and in the confessional. ... The same individual occupies the pulpit: you are delighted to see him there, and forthwith set yourself to listen to him with earnest attention; but, alas! you no longer recognize him: he is no longer the same; what he utters is no longer the word of life. You exclaim: "What has become of my model pastor, my saint?" ... for you hear nothing now but declamation, or a sing-song speech ... a uniform tone which utters the denunciation: "Depart ye cursed into ever lasting fire," and the invitation: "Come, ye blessed of my Father," in the same strain. ... You hear what you have heard a hundred times before--a poor man who, with a painful sense of effort, is doing his best to evoke refractory thoughts and phrases, and are almost led to doubt whether he is not acting a part.

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This monotony, this dull uniformity, this mannerism must be abandoned, and we must resume our personality--our own minds and hearts--enlarged and inspired by the breath of God; ... otherwise, by persisting in that dismal tone, that frigidly philosophical style, that finely spun phraseology, that speech without emphasis, which characterizes the generality of our sermons nowadays, we shall wholly lose our time, our pains, and perchance our souls also. ...

Can it, indeed, be that we are wanting in a just sense of our mission, and that we do not adequately estimate the object which those who speak in God's name should have in view? The end of preaching is to bring back the souls of men to the Creator.

In this respect also, it is to be feared that the philosophical spirit, and a tendency to controversy, have turned us aside from our proper aim and the end of all our efforts. Take away the accent of conviction from a sermon, divest it of energetic faith, and what is left thereof to the hearers? Mere sounding phrases, and nothing more.

Now, let me ask, are you aware of the enemies with whom you have to deal, and the difficulties which you have to contend against? The object set before you is to redeem the hearts of men, who in their thirst, their rage for happiness, have given themselves up to the sensual, visible, intoxicating things which surround them. {253} You will have to do battle with the human passions: to say to pride, be abased; to voluptuousness, be accursed; to the love of gold, renounce your avarice and be bountiful ... and you fancy that you will succeed in the encounter by the use of mere phrases; forgetting, perchance, that those passions can make better phrases than yours. They know how to give them life, and will hurl them at you, glowing with a fire which will speedily devour your cold and meagre speeches ... Nothing can restrain and subdue the passions but the inspiration, the power of God. ...

It is high time that we should resume the accent of conviction in our ministrations. Having that, the soul is perfectly at ease, and, feeling sure of its footing, cherishes the widest benevolence. ... Why should it be troubled, knowing that it is secure in the Power on which it relies? It is only those powers which doubt their own strength that are suspicious and wavering. And when God is with us, we cannot fail to entertain profound pity for the weaknesses, the prejudices, the profanities, and the false reasonings of humanity.

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