is not so with Edwards. Even in print, after more than a hundred and fifty years, and notwithstanding the gulf which separates our age from his, his sermons are still deeply interesting. They are interesting because, among other things, they reveal a great and interesting personality. They are instinct with the energy of his intellect, they are vital with the vital touch of his genius. He preached his theology; some of his sermons—for instance, the sermon, or rather combination of sermons, on Justification by Faith—seem to be less sermons than highly elaborate theological disquisitions, adapted to the use of professional students. And there is doubtless no sermon of his which does not reflect, to some extent, his theological system. Edwards was certainly impressed with The Importance and Advantage of a Thorough Knowledge of Divine Truth—the theme and title of one of his ablest discourses. He held that God had revealed Himself not only to the heart, but to the mind of man, and that an intelligent apprehension of the revelation was indispensable, in some measure, alike to saving faith and to the development of Christian character. But it would be a mistake to think of Edwards as preaching the dry bones of his theology. He was far, indeed, from supposing, as some now seem to suppose, that a Christian society can be the more perfectly organized in proportion as all definiteness of theological, that is, distinctively religious, conceptions is eliminated. He had too profound a respect for the intellect to exclude it from matters of the deepest speculative as well as practical moment, and he had too lofty an idea of religion to identify it either with vague, transcendental emotion or with merely personal, social, or political morality. His sermons, however, are by no means all of one type. On the contrary, they are of a great variety of types. They are “doctrinal,” “practical,” “experimental,” and—taking into account the unpublished manuscripts—there is an unusually large number of “occasional” sermons.[10] And there are a good many varieties within the types. But even when the sermons are most “doctrinal,” the practical interest of a living conviction of the truth is never absent. The abstract antithesis of thought and life, of theory and practice, as though thinking were not itself a doing or as though an attitude toward truth were not itself practical or capable of determining other practical attitudes, is an error from which Edwards is wholesomely free.
To say this is not necessarily to approve the content of his doctrinal preaching. The thought of the churches with which Edwards was associated has moved away from his thought. He contended stoutly for his scheme of things, but he fought, it would seem, a losing fight. It is not that he has been refuted by abstract logic; the argument by which he has been set aside, so far as he has been set aside, is the logic of events. The change has been brought about no doubt by many influences. Some of them seem purely sentimental. But there are two things at least of fundamental divergence in the character of our time—the development in us of a critically disciplined historical sense and the dominating influence in our modern science and philosophy of the idea of evolution. These have broken down those hard and fast distinctions between nature and the supernatural, nature and grace, human reason and divine revelation in which Edwards delighted, at least in the form in which he habitually preached them. With the establishment, on the lines of historical criticism, of new canons of exegesis in the interpretation of Scripture and with the gradual disappearance of the idea of the Bible as an external authority, Protestant Christianity is at present confronting the question, whether the entire claim of Christianity to be a supernatural revelation, in the sense in which the term “supernatural” is used by orthodox theologians, has not been misplaced. This is a question which Edwards never raises and which he does not help us directly to solve. He has the mind of a speculative philosopher, has a very profound thought of God, grasps firmly the eternal spiritual significance of things; but he is deficient in the historical sense—his History of Redemption is a wholly uncritical, dogmatic construction, and he is not speculative enough to find, or at least he works under conditions which prevent him from showing, the mediating principles by which the antitheses and contradictions of experience and theory can be reconciled and annulled.
But to return to the sermons. Edwards’s sermons are constructed, in general, on a definite model. We have, first, the Exposition of the text. We have, secondly, a clearly formulated statement of the Doctrine, which is then developed under its appropriate and preannounced divisions. Finally, we have what is variously called the Improvement, Use, or Application, similarly developed. The “Doctrine” is not usually an abstract theological dogma: it is simply the theme of the discourse stated in propositional form. Thus an unpublished sermon on John i. 41, 42 has this for its statement of doctrine: “When persons have truly come to Christ themselves, they naturally desire to bring others also to him.” Another unpublished sermon on John iii. 7 has this: “ ’Tis no wonder that Christ said that we must be born again.” In another—also unpublished—from the text John i. 47 the doctrine is the similarly simple statement, “ ’Tis a great thing to be indeed a converted person.” Sometimes, though rarely, the statement of a doctrine is omitted altogether, the text itself being regarded as sufficiently defining the subject.[11] This, however, is never the case with the Application. Indeed, so “practical” is Edwards in his preaching that the Application is sometimes much the larger part of the discourse. In the sermon on John i. 47, for example, it fills about two-thirds of the manuscript. In fact, the proportion of these parts, Exposition, Development of Doctrine and Application, depends entirely on the nature of the theme and the special ends of the sermon. And similarly of the length and number of the subdivisions. One feature is constant—strictly logical arrangement. However finely articulated the sermons may be, they are constructed so as to make a distinctly unified impression. Nor is this unity of impression seriously interfered with, as a rule, by the length of the sermon. Edwards was not in the habit of exhausting the attention of his audience. Occasionally, however, he would develop his theme through two or more sermons. When these appear in the printed editions as a single discourse, the length naturally seems inordinate. In the manuscripts the parts of such compound sermons are indicated by the word “Doc” (Doctrine) at the divisions, suggesting that the preacher was wont, in renewing the theme, to remind his hearers of the precise nature of the subject under discussion.[12]
And as there was no confusion in the thought, so the style of Edwards’s sermons is singularly clear, simple and unstudied. He affects no graces, seeks no adornments, which the subject-matter itself and his interest in it do not naturally lend. “The style is the man” is a saying which peculiarly applies to him. The nobility, strength and directness of his thought, the vividness and largeness of his imagination, the truthfulness and elevation of his character, the intensity of his convictions, his impassioned earnestness are reflected in his discourses. They seem to have been to an unusual degree a spontaneous form of self-expression. But attention is never diverted from the subject to the skill of the workmanship. The object is not to delight, but to convince, and the attainment of this end is sought by direct methods of argument, persuasion and appeal. Yet the style, though simple and straightforward, is very far from being barren. The sermons are full of great, rich, beautiful words; and there are many passages in them of wonderful charm as well as many of great sublimity and rhetorical power. But Edwards’s interest in these seems never merely verbal. He is not a maker of phrases. He makes use of striking metaphor and startling antithesis, his style is often picturesque, he well knows the rhetorical value of iteration, when the repeated phrase is employed in a varied context; but he never seeks to produce his effects by literary indirection. He can be easy, familiar, colloquial even, on occasion, if that suits his purpose; but he is never undignified, never vulgarly sensational, nor does he seem ever to be intentionally humorous. The construction of his sentences is often such as the pedantry of modern standards would condemn; but however old-fashioned, it is seldom indeed that the expression can be called whimsical or quaint. The most determining external influence on his style was unquestionably the old, so-called King James version of the English Bible. His language is saturated with its thought and phraseology. And as he is intimately acquainted with it in all its parts, so he is continually quoting it and constantly surprising us with fresh discoveries, in novel collocations, of its variety, beauty and impressiveness. He was influenced also doubtless by his too exclusively theological and philosophical reading. But it is, in the end, the originality of his own genius, the depth and subtlety and force of his mind and the richness of his spiritual experiences, which we must regard as setting the stamp upon his style. Edwards’s sermons are hall-marked: they have not only interest as historical memorials
