Part 25 (2/2)

As is well known, Dr. Wilson was appointed in 1855 to the newly-const.i.tuted Professors.h.i.+p of Technology, and to the Curators.h.i.+p of the Industrial Museum. The expenditure of thought, of ingenuity, of research, and management-the expenditure, in a word, of himself-involved in originating and giving form of purpose to a scheme so new and so undefined, and, in our view, so undefinable, must, we fear, have shortened his life, and withdrawn his precious and quite singular powers of ill.u.s.trating and adorning, and, in the highest sense, sanctifying and blessing science, from this which seemed always to us his proper sphere. Indeed, in the opinion of some good judges, the inst.i.tution of such a chair at all, and especially in connection with a University such as ours, and the attaching to it the conduct of a great Museum of the Industrial Arts, was somewhat hastily gone into, and might have with advantage waited for and obtained a little more consideration and forethought. Be this as it may, Dr. Wilson did his duty with his whole heart and soul-making a cla.s.s, which was always increasing, and which was at its largest at his death.

We have left ourselves no s.p.a.ce to speak of Dr. Wilson as an author, as an academic and popular lecturer, as a member of learned societies, as a man of exquisite literary powers and fancy, and as a citizen of remarkable public acceptation. This must come from some more careful, and fuller, and more leisurely record of his genius and worth. What he was as a friend it is not for us to say; we only know that when we leave this world we would desire no better memorial than to be remembered by many as George Wilson now is, and always will be. His _Life of Cavendish_ is admirable as a biography, full of life, of picturesque touches, and of realization of the man and of his times, and is, moreover, thoroughly scientific, containing, among other discussions, by far the best account of the great water controversy from the Cavendish point of view. His _Life of John Reid_ is a vivid and memorable presentation to the world of the true lineaments, manner of life, and inmost thought and heroic sufferings, as well as of the n.o.ble scientific achievements of that strong, truthful, courageous, and altogether admirable man, and true discoverer-a genuine follower of John Hunter.

_The Five Gateways of Knowledge_ is a prose poem, a hymn of the finest utterance and fancy-the white light of science diffracted through the crystalline prism of his mind into the colored glories of the spectrum; truth dressed in the iridescent hues of the rainbow, and not the less but all the more true. His other papers in the _British Quarterly_, the _North British Review_, and his last gem on ”Paper, Pens, and Ink,” in his valued and generous friend Macmillan's first number of his Magazine, are all astonis.h.i.+ng proofs of the brightness, accuracy, vivacity, unweariedness of his mind, and the endless sympathy and affectionate play of his affections with the full round of scientific truth. His essay on ”Color Blindness” is, we believe, as perfect a monogram as exists, and will remain likely untouched and unadded to, _factum ad unguem_. As may be seen from these remarks, we regard him not so much as, like Edward Forbes, a great observer and quiet generalizer, or, like Samuel Brown, a discoverer and philosopher properly so called-though, as we have said, he had enough of these two men's prime qualities to understand and relish and admire them. His great quality lay in making men love ascertained and recorded truth, scientific truth especially; he made his reader and hearer _enjoy facts_. He illuminated the Book of Nature as they did the missals of old. His nature was so thoroughly composite, so in full harmony with itself, that no one faculty could or cared to act without calling in all the others to join in full chorus.

To take an ill.u.s.tration from his own science, his faculties interpenetrated and interfused themselves into each other, as the gases do, by a law of their nature. Thus it was that everybody understood and liked and was impressed by him; he touched him at every point. Knowledge was to him no barren, cold essence; it was alive and flushed with the colors of the earth and sky, and all over with light and stars. His flowers-and his mind was full of flowers-were from seeds, and were sown by himself. They were neither taken from other gardens and stuck in rootless, as children do, much less were they of the nature of gumflowers, made with hands, wretched and dry and scentless.

Truth of science was to him a body, full of loveliness, perfection, and strength, in which dwelt the unspeakable Eternal. This, which was the dominant idea of his mind-the goodliness, and not less the G.o.dliness of all science-made his whole life, his every action, every letter he wrote, every lecture he delivered, his last expiring breath, instinct with the one constant idea that all truth, all goodness, all science, all beauty, all gladness are but the expression of the mind and will and heart of the Great Supreme. And this, in his case, was not mysticism, neither was it merely a belief in revealed religion, though no man cherished and believed in his Bible more firmly and cordially than he; it was the a.s.sured belief, on purely scientific grounds, that G.o.d is indeed and in very truth all in all; that, to use the sublime adaptation by poor crazy Smart, the whole creation, visible and invisible, spiritual and material, everything that has being, is-to those who have ears to hear-forever declaring ”_Thou Art_,” before the throne of the Great I AM.

To George Wilson, to all such men-and this is the great lesson of his life-the heavens are forever telling His glory, the firmament is forever showing forth His handiwork; day unto day, every day, is forever uttering speech, and night unto night is showing knowledge concerning Him. When he considered these heavens, as he lay awake weary and in pain, they were to him the work of His fingers. The moon, walking in brightness, and lying in white glory on his bed-the stars-were by Him ordained. He was a singularly happy, and happy-making man. No one since his boyhood could have suffered more from pain, and languor, and the misery of an unable body. Yet he was not only cheerful, he was gay, full of all sorts of _fun_-genuine fun-and his jokes and queer turns of thought and word were often worthy of Cowper or Charles Lamb. We wish we had them collected. Being, from his state of health and his knowledge of medicine, necessarily ”mindful of death,” having the possibility of his dying any day or any hour, always before him, and ”that undiscovered country” lying full in his view, he must-taking, as he did, the right notion of the nature of things-have had a peculiar intensity of pleasure in the every-day beauties of the world.

”The common sun, the air, the skies, To him were opening Paradise.”

They were to him all the more exquisite, all the more altogether lovely, these Pentlands, and well-known rides and places; these rural solitudes and pleasant villages and farms, and the countenances of his friends, and the clear, pure, radiant face of science and of nature, were to him all the more to be desired and blessed and thankful for, that he knew the pallid king at any time might give that not unexpected knock, and summon him away.

_ST. PAUL'S THORN IN THE FLESH: WHAT WAS IT?_

If the 15th verse of the fourth chapter of the Epistle to the Galatians, instead of being taken in a figurative sense, as it generally has been, be understood literally, it will be found to furnish the means of determining, with a tolerably near approach to certainty, the particular nature of the disease under which St. Paul is supposed to have labored, and which he elsewhere speaks of as the ”Thorn in his flesh.” And that the literal interpretation is the true one, may, I think, be shown, partly from the general scope of the paragraph to which the 15th verse belongs; partly from some peculiarities of expression in it, which could only have been used under an intention that the verse in question should be taken literally; and partly also from the fact that there are statements and allusions elsewhere in the New Testament, which a.s.sert or imply, that St. Paul really was affected in the manner here supposed to be indicated.

”_Brethren, I beseech you_,” says the Apostle, ”_be as I am; for I am as ye are: ye have not injured me at all. Ye know how through infirmity of the flesh I preached the gospel unto you at the first. And my temptation (trial) which was in my flesh ye despised not, nor rejected; but received me as an angel of G.o.d, even as Christ Jesus._ _Where is then the blessedness ye spake of? for I bear you record, that, if it had been possible, ye would have plucked out your own eyes, and have given them to me._”

The last words of this pa.s.sage, ”Ye would have plucked out your own eyes, and have given them to me,” have usually been taken in a hyperbolical or proverbial sense, as if a merely general meaning was conveyed, amounting simply to-”There was no sacrifice, however great, which ye would not have made for me.” But it is plainly open to inquiry, whether the sense is not of a more special kind; whether (viz.) St. Paul does not here, as in the preceding verses, intend to remind the Galatians of pure matter of fact-to recall to them, not in mere general terms, the depth and warmth of their feelings and professions of regard for him, but to repeat to them perhaps the very words they had used, and to revive in their memories the actual and express import of their desires and anxieties. If this be the case, if it really was a common and habitual thing with them to express a wish that it were possible for them to pluck out their own eyes, and to transfer them to the apostle, the only way of reasonably accounting for so strange and _outre_ a proceeding, is to suppose that St. Paul actually labored either under entire deprivation of vision, or under some severely painful and vexatious disease of the eyes: The meaning being, that so keenly did the Galatians sympathize with the apostle in his affliction, that they would willingly have become his subst.i.tutes by taking all his suffering upon themselves, if only it were possible, by doing so to relieve him.

That there is at least no _prima facie_ objection to this explanation of the words, will, I think, be readily enough admitted. It is perfectly simple and unforced, and it conveys a lively and touching representation of the feelings which would naturally spring up in the minds of a grateful and warm-hearted people, to their great benefactor and friend, who, amidst disease, and pain, and weakness, had made the greatest and most unwearying exertions to communicate to them the invaluable truths of Christianity.

But, in addition to this, it will be found, I think, that under the literal interpretation of the 15th verse, a peculiar point and force belongs to the apostle's appeal, and a closely connected and harmonious meaning is imparted to the whole paragraph, all of which, it seems to me, are lost if the figurative explanation is adhered to. In the previous part of the chapter, St. Paul had been arguing against the foolish predilection which the Galatians had taken up for forms and formalisms and ceremonial observances, and strongly exhorting them to abandon this pernicious and unchristian propensity. And now, in the paragraph quoted, he takes up new ground, and appeals to them by the memory of their old affection for him, to listen to his arguments and entreaties, and to be of one mind with him. The general meaning of what he says is plain enough, but there are difficulties of detail, both in particular expressions, and in the train of thought. The words, for example, ”Be as I am, for I am as ye are,” at once strike the ear as a peculiar and unusual style to adopt in an invitation to unity of thought and feeling. But if the last clause of the 15th verse be taken literally, I think it will appear that this expression has a special fitness and propriety. The words, ”for I am as ye are,” imply a reference, I imagine, to his being, in respect of his bodily affliction, _not_ as they were; and what follows is intended to remind them how anxious they were, when their love to him was fresh, to be ”as he was,”

even although it would have been necessary to accept bodily pain and mutilation to attain that object. If I am correct in thinking the first clause of the 12th verse, and the last of the 15th, to be thus closely related and corresponsive, it will be seen that they mutually explain each other; and the apostle's argument, as I understand it, may then be thus stated:-If you were so willing and eager, when I was with you, even at the cost of plucking out your eyes, to ”be as I am,” surely you will hardly refuse me the same thing now in this other matter, wherein there is no such difference between us as to raise any impediment in the way of your compliance, where no such sacrifice as ye were formerly ready to make is required of you, and where all that is asked from you is to give up your false opinions and evil practices, and simply ”be as I am” in believing and obeying the truth revealed.

In another respect, the ordinary explanation involves, I think, an unnatural rupture of the continuity of thought, which is completely avoided by the literal interpretation of the pa.s.sage. In the 13th verse, we find the apostle introducing, in a somewhat formal and special manner, the subject of his bodily affliction. ”Ye know,” he says, ”how through infirmity of the flesh I preached the gospel to you at the first.” And it cannot but strike the reader as strange that, after this, all he should have to say about the matter, is that the Galatians ”despised not nor rejected it.” The very vagueness, and merely negative character of this expression, excites a sort of instinctive expectation that he will forthwith proceed to state something more positive and specific. But instead of this we are taught by the common explanation, to suppose that an abrupt transition is at once made from the subject of his ”temptation” altogether; the statement about the attachment of the Galatians, instead of becoming more distinct and special, as we naturally expect it to do, suddenly merges into the widest possible generality; and their affection, instead of being described by any further reference to the facts of its manifestation, is now represented to us under a strong (it is true) but rather fantastic figure, which leaves an impression of its character and aspect just as undecided and imperfect as before.

But a closer examination of the words at once throws doubt on this conception of their meaning. In the 13th and 14th verses, the a.s.sociated ideas are, the apostle's disease or affliction, and the affectionate concern of the Galatians with reference to it. In the 15th verse, the reference to the Galatians' display of affection is still continued, and now the idea connected with it is, that of their giving him their plucked-out eyes. But this is not necessarily a change of a.s.sociation, for, as already intimated, their plucking out their eyes and giving them to the apostle, naturally and readily suggests the thought that their design was, ”if it had been possible,” to supply them to him as subst.i.tutes for his own, under the a.s.sumption of the latter being diseased or defective. If this be the reference, then the missing idea reappears, the lost a.s.sociation is recovered; bodily affliction in the apostle, and the affection of the Galatians towards him, are still the connected thoughts, the only change being just what might naturally be expected to take place as the discourse proceeded, viz.:-that the ideas are more distinctly developed, and that what was previously alluded to in general terms, is now, not indeed directly stated, but specifically indicated and implied. The ”temptation” in the one verse, and the disease hinted by implication in the form a.s.sumed by the pa.s.sionate sympathy of the Galatians, are therefore identified; and thus, the whole paragraph, from the 12th to the 15th verse, instead of presenting an agglomeration of abrupt transitions and disconnected thoughts, evolves a close, natural, and continuous meaning throughout.

Something more, however, is required than merely to show that the interpretation which I propose exhibits a better arrangement, and connection of the thoughts. The apostle may have written in haste, and that explanation of his meaning which attributes to him imperfect connectedness, may after all be the correct one. I shall therefore proceed to inquire whether some further light may not be thrown upon the subject, by a more minute investigation than I have yet attempted, of particular words and turns of expression in the pa.s.sage.

The phrase, ”I bear you record,” could only have been used with propriety in reference to a positive _fact;_ something that the apostle had actually witnessed. He could not have employed this language in announcing a mere _inference_ (as the common interpretation would make it) from the conduct of the Galatians towards him, as to the strength and extent of their regard; for a man's testimony can only bear reference to facts which have actually come under his observation. The apostle's language, let it be observed, is not the declaration of a _belief_ that the Galatians would have plucked out their own eyes in his behalf, if circ.u.mstances had arisen to make such a sacrifice necessary; it is the announcement of a _testimony_ (a?t???), on the a.s.sumption that those circ.u.mstances had actually arisen. And the testimony is not to the effect that the Galatians entertained strong affection to him, and as a consequence of that affection; that he is a.s.sured they would have plucked out their eyes for him (for these must have been the terms of his declaration, upon the ordinary understanding of the pa.s.sage); but it is direct to the point, that if it had only been possible, ”they would have plucked out their own eyes, and have given them to him.” Such language, it appears to me, would be absurd, unless we are to understand by it, that the Galatians had actually expressed a wish, and demonstrated a desire to perform the very act which the apostle speaks of! And if so, I think it is obviously necessary to infer that some circ.u.mstance must have existed to give occasion to a wish of so peculiar a kind, in the minds of those who were attached to the apostle's person; and the only circ.u.mstance which I can conceive of as calculated to excite such a wish, is St. Paul's suffering under some painful affection of the eyes.

The expression, ”if it had been possible,” has also, I think, a peculiar significance. If the sentence in the 15th verse, beginning, ”I bear you record,” &c., is thoughtfully considered, it will be seen that three suppositions may be made as to the apostle's meaning and reference: _1st_, The language may be understood (as has usually been done) in a figurative or proverbial sense, and as containing no allusion to any really existing circ.u.mstances; _2d_, It may be taken literally, but with reference rather to what _might_ happen than to circ.u.mstances actually existing; as if the writer had said, ”If I were to lose my eyes, I bear you record that you would willingly have plucked out yours to supply their place;” or, _3d_, The words may be understood as giving a plain matter-of-fact representation of what the Galatians really thought and felt in reference to the apostle's bodily affliction. Now, I think it may be made out quite distinctly that the words ”if it had been possible,” could only have been used under the last of these hypotheses; for in no other case would the contingency of _possibility_ have presented itself to the writer's mind. If, for example, we are to understand the language as literal, but with reference to the _future_ or _conceivable_, rather than the present or actual, the expression would obviously have been,-”I bear you record that if it had been _necessary_” or, ”if such a thing had been required of you for my benefit, ye would have plucked out,” &c.[52] If, on the other hand, we suppose the language to be figurative or proverbial, no contingency would have been mentioned at all, for it is characteristic of such language that it is always absolute and unconditional. For example, in the expressions, ”If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee;” ”If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee;” every one at once recognizes the purely proverbial or figurative character of the language, and this simply because its form is absolute and unconditioned. The moment you introduce anything like a condition, and make the removal of the sinning eye or the offending hand dependent upon some circ.u.mstance, you are compelled to understand the words according to their strictly literal meaning. Thus, if our Lord, instead of saying what he did in this case, had used such an expression as this,-”If thy right hand offend thee, and if the tendency to offend be insuperable, cut it off;” or, ”If thy right eye offend thee, and its extraction would not endanger life, pluck it out,” it is clear that the expressions could only have been taken in their strictly literal sense.

So, in the words under review, it is also obvious that the introduction of the ”if it be possible” takes the phrase out of the cla.s.s of figures or proverbs, and necessitates its interpretation in a close, literal, matter-of-fact manner.

[52] This seems to have been the view taken by Calvin, but with that logical acuteness which was characteristic of him, he at the same time perceived that it was inaccordant with the expression, ”if it had been possible.” In his commentary upon the pa.s.sage, therefore, he subst.i.tutes ”_si opus sit_”

for the apostle's words; thus, of course, a.s.suming that St.

Paul had adopted an inapt phrase to express his meaning. But I need scarcely say that such a mode of interpretation is altogether inadmissible, the only legitimate rule being to take the words of the text as they stand, and thence to infer the circ.u.mstances or conditions under which they were used.

Perhaps a slight incident which lately occurred in my presence will better ill.u.s.trate what I wish to convey than any elaborate exposition could do. One day, a poor simple-hearted married couple, from the country, called on a medical friend of mine, to consult him about a complaint in the eyes of the husband, which seemed to threaten him with total blindness. The wife entered at great length into all the symptoms of the complaint, and was extremely voluble in her expressions of sympathy and of anxiety that something should be done to remove the disease. It was difficult to repress a smile at the scene, and yet it was touching too; and the doctor, looking in the old woman's honest affectionate face, quietly said, ”I suppose you would give him one of your own eyes, _if you could_:” ”That I would, sir,” was the immediate answer. Now, it is clear that my friend's words could only have been used under the particular circ.u.mstances which called them forth. Had the affection of the old woman been exhibited upon some other occasion than her husband's threatened blindness, he _might_ have said (though, of course, the allusion to eyes at all would not very naturally or probably have suggested itself), ”I suppose you would give him one of your own eyes _if he required it_,” but he could never have used the words, ”_if you could_.” The application of this to the language used by St. Paul is sufficiently obvious.

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