{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_26308/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_26308","id":"gutenberg_26308","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26308","summary":null,"tags":["Category: How To ...","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Teaching & Education","Extemporaneous preaching"],"text":"Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n                                 HINTS\n\n                                  ON\n\n                       EXTEMPORANEOUS PREACHING.\n\n\n                           BY HENRY WARE, JR.\n                MINISTER OF THE SECOND CHURCH IN BOSTON.\n\n\n      Maximus vero studiorum fructus est, et velut praemium quoddam\n        amplissimum longi laboris, ex tempore dicendi facultas.\n\n                                                 _Quinct._ x. 7.\n\n\n                                BOSTON:\n                 PUBLISHED BY CUMMINGS, HILLIARD & CO.\n                                 1824.\n\n\n                 University Press--Hilliard & Metcalf.\n\n\n\n\n                                   TO\n                              THE STUDENTS\n                                 IN THE\n              THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY,\n                         THIS LITTLE TREATISE,\n                                WITH THE\n                 SINCEREST PRAYERS THAT THEY MAY BECOME\n                PROFOUND DIVINES AND POWERFUL PREACHERS,\n                      IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED\n                                   BY\n                               THE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n  Advantages of Extemporaneous Preaching\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n  Disadvantages--Objections considered\n\n  CHAPTER III.\n  Rules\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIt is the object of this little work, to draw the attention of those who\nare preparing for the christian ministry, or who have just entered it,\nto a mode of preaching which the writer thinks has been too much\ndiscountenanced and despised; but which, under proper restrictions, he\nis persuaded may add greatly to the opportunities of ministerial\nusefulness. The subject has hardly received the attention it deserves\nfrom writers on the pastoral office, who have usually devoted to it but\na few sentences, which offer little encouragement and afford no aid.\nBurnet, in his Treatise on the Pastoral Care, and Fenelon in his\nDialogues on Eloquence, have treated it more at large, but still very\ncursorily. To their arguments and their authority, which are of great\nweight, I refer the more distinctly here, because I have not quoted them\nso much at large as I intended when I wrote the beginning of the second\nchapter. Besides these, the remarks of Quinctilian, x. 7. on the subject\nof speaking extempore, which are full of his usual good sense, may be\nvery profitably consulted.\n\nIt has been my object to state fully and fairly the benefits which\nattend this mode of address in the pulpit, and at the same time to guard\nagainst the dangers and abuses to which it is confessedly liable. How\nfar I may have succeeded, it is not for me to determine. It would be\nsomething to persuade but one to add this to his other talents for doing\ngood in the church. Even the attempt to do it, though unsuccessful,\nwould not be without its reward; since it could not be fairly made\nwithout a most salutary moral and intellectual discipline.\n\nIt is not to be expected--nor do I mean by any thing I have said to\nintimate--that every man is capable of becoming an accomplished preacher\nin this mode, or that every one may succeed as well in this as in the\nordinary mode. There is a variety in the talents of men, and to some\nthis may be peculiarly unsuited. Yet this is no good reason why _any_\nshould decline the attempt, since it is only by making the attempt that\nthey can determine whether or not success is within their power.\n\nThere is at least one consequence likely to result from the study of\nthis art and the attempt to practise it, which would alone be a\nsufficient reason for urging it earnestly. I mean, its probable effect\nin breaking up the constrained, cold, formal, scholastic mode of\naddress, which follows the student from his college duties, and keeps\nhim from immediate contact with the hearts of his fellow men. This would\nbe effected by his learning to speak from his feelings, rather than from\nthe critical rules of a book. His address would be more natural, and\nconsequently better adapted to effective preaching.\n\n\n\n\nHINTS ON EXTEMPORANEOUS PREACHING.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nIt is a little remarkable that, while some classes of christians do not\ntolerate the preaching of a written discourse, others have an equal\nprejudice against all sermons which have not been carefully precomposed.\nAmong the latter are to be found those who favor an educated ministry,\nand whose preachers are valued for their cultivated minds and extensive\nknowledge. The former are, for the most part, those who disparage\nlearning as a qualification for a christian teacher, and whose ministers\nare consequently not accustomed to exact mental discipline, nor familiar\nwith the best models of thinking and writing. It might seem at first\nview, that the least cultivated would require the greatest previous\npreparation in order profitably to address their fellow-men, and that\nthe best informed and most accustomed to study might be best trusted to\nspeak without the labor of written composition. That it has been thought\notherwise, is probably owing, in a great measure, to the solicitude for\nliterary exactness and elegance of style, which becomes a habit in the\ntaste of studious men, and renders all inaccuracy and carelessness\noffensive. He who has been accustomed to read and admire the finest\nmodels of composition in various languages, and to dwell on those\nniceties of method and expression which form so large a part of the\ncharm of literary works; acquires a critical delicacy of taste, which\nrenders him fastidiously sensitive to those crudities and roughnesses of\nspeech, which almost necessarily attend an extemporaneous style. He is\napt to exaggerate their importance, and to imagine that no excellencies\nof another kind can atone for them. He therefore protects himself by the\ntoil of previous composition, and ventures not a sentence which he has\nnot leisurely weighed and measured. An audience also, composed of\nreading people, or accustomed to the exactness of written composition in\nthe pulpit, acquires something of the same taste, and is easily offended\nat the occasional homeliness of diction, and looseness of method, which\noccur in extemporaneous speaking. Whereas those preachers and hearers,\nwhose education and habits of mind have been different, know nothing of\nthis taste, and are insensible to these blemishes; and, if there be only\na fluent outpouring of words, accompanied by a manner which evinces\nearnestness and sincerity, are pleased and satisfied.\n\nIt is further remarkable, that this prejudice of taste has been suffered\nto rule in this way in no profession but that of the ministry. The most\nfastidious taste never carries a written speech to the bar or into the\nsenate. The very man who dares not ascend the pulpit without a sermon\ndiligently arranged, and filled out to the smallest word, if he had gone\ninto the profession of the law, would, at the same age and with no\ngreater advantages, address the bench and the jury in language\naltogether unpremeditated. Instances are not wanting in which the\nminister, who imagined it impossible to put ten sentences together in\nthe pulpit, has found himself able, on changing his profession, to speak\nfluently for an hour.\n\nI have no doubt that to speak extempore is easier at the bar and in the\nlegislature, than in the pulpit. Our associations with this place are of\nso sacred a character, that our faculties do not readily play there with\ntheir accustomed freedom. There is an awe upon our feelings which\nconstrains us. A sense, too, of the importance and responsibility of the\nstation, and of the momentous consequences depending on the influence he\nmay there exert, has a tendency to oppress and embarrass the\nconscientious man, who feels it as he ought. There is also, in the other\ncases, an immediate end to be attained, which produces a powerful\nimmediate excitement; an excitement, increased by the presence of those\nwho are speaking on the opposite side of the question, and in assailing\nor answering whom, the embarrassment of the place is lost in the\ninterest of the argument. Whereas in the pulpit, there is none to\nassault, and none to refute; the preacher has the field entirely to\nhimself, and this of itself is sufficiently dismaying. The ardor and\nself-oblivion which present debate occasions, do not exist; and the\nsolemn stillness and fixed gaze of a waiting multitude, serve rather to\nappal and abash the solitary speaker, than to bring the subject forcibly\nto his mind. Thus every external circumstance is unpropitious, and it is\nnot strange that relief has been sought in the use of manuscripts.\n\nBut still, these difficulties, and others which I shall have occasion to\nmention in another place, are by no means such as to raise that\ninsuperable obstacle which many suppose. They may all be overcome by\nresolution and perseverance. As regards merely the use of unpremeditated\nlanguage, it is far from being a difficult attainment. A writer, whose\nopportunities of observation give weight to his opinion, says, in\nspeaking of the style of the younger Pitt--\"This profuse and\ninterminable flow of words is not in itself either a rare or remarkable\nendowment. It is wholly a thing of habit; and is exercised by every\nvillage lawyer with various degrees of power and grace.\"[1] If there be\ncircumstances which render the habit more difficult to be acquired by\nthe preacher, they are still such as may be surmounted; and it may be\nmade plain, I think, that the advantages which he may thus ensure to\nhimself are so many and so great, as to offer the strongest inducement\nto make the attempt.\n\n    [1] Europe; &c. by a Citizen of the United States.\n\nThat these advantages are real and substantial, may be safely inferred\nfrom the habit of public orators in other professions, and from the\neffects they are known to produce. There is more nature, more warmth in\nthe declamation, more earnestness in the address, greater animation in\nthe manner, more of the lighting up of the soul in the countenance and\nwhole mien, more freedom and meaning in the gesture; the eye speaks, and\nthe fingers speak, and when the orator is so excited as to forget every\nthing but the matter on which his mind and feelings are acting, the\nwhole body is affected, and helps to propagate his emotions to the\nhearer. Amidst all the exaggerated colouring of Patrick Henry's\nbiographer, there is doubtless enough that is true, to prove a power in\nthe spontaneous energy of an excited speaker, superior in its effects to\nany thing that can be produced by writing. Something of the same sort\nhas been witnessed by every one who is in the habit of attending in the\ncourts of justice, or the chambers of legislation. And this, not only in\nthe instances of the most highly eloquent; but inferior men are found\nthus to excite attention and produce effects, which they never could\nhave done by their pens. In deliberative assemblies, in senates and\nparliaments, the larger portion of the speaking is necessarily\nunpremeditated; perhaps the most eloquent is always so; for it is\nelicited by the growing heat of debate; it is the spontaneous combustion\nof the mind in the conflict of opinion. Chatham's speeches were not\nwritten, nor Sheridan's, nor that of Ames on the British treaty. They\nwere, so far as regards their language and ornaments, the effusions of\nthe moment, and derived from their freshness a power, which no study\ncould impart. Among the orations of Cicero, which are said to have made\nthe greatest impression, and to have best accomplished the orator's\ndesign, are those delivered on unexpected emergencies, which precluded\nthe possibility of previous preparation. Such were his first invective\nagainst Catiline, and the speech which stilled the disturbances at the\ntheatre. In all these cases, there can be no question of the advantages\nwhich the orators enjoyed in their ability to make use of the excitement\nof the occasion, unchilled by the formality of studied preparation.\nAlthough possibly guilty of many rhetorical and logical faults, yet\nthese would be unobserved in the fervent and impassioned torrent, which\nbore away the minds of the delighted auditors.\n\nIt is doubtless very true, that a man of study and reflection,\naccustomed deliberately to weigh every expression and analyze every\nsentence, and to be influenced by nothing which does not bear the test\nof the severest examination, may be most impressed by the quiet,\nunpretending reading of a well digested essay or dissertation. To some\nmen the concisest statement of a subject, with nothing to adorn the\nnaked skeleton of thought, is most forcible. They are even impatient of\nany attempt to assist its effect by fine writing, by emphasis, tone, or\ngesture. They are like the mathematician, who read the Paradise Lost\nwithout pleasure, because he could not see that it proved any thing. But\nwe are not to judge from the taste of such men, of what is suitable to\naffect the majority. The multitude are not mere thinkers or great\nreaders. From their necessary habits they are incapable of following a\nlong discussion except it be made inviting by the circumstances\nattending it, or the manner of conducting it. Their attention must be\nexcited and maintained by some external application. To them,\n\n  Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant\n  More learned than their ears.\n\nIt is a great fault with intellectual men, that they do not make\nsufficient allowance for the different modes of education and habits of\nmind in men of other pursuits. It is one of the infelicities of a\nuniversity education, that a man is there trained in a fictitious scene,\nwhere there are interests, associations, feelings, exceedingly diverse\nfrom what prevail in the society of the world; and where he becomes so\nfar separated from the habits and sympathies of other men, as to need to\nacquire a new knowledge of them, before he knows how to address them.\nWhen a young man leaves the seclusion of a student's life to preach to\nhis fellow-men, he is likely to speak to them as if they were scholars.\nHe imagines them to be capable of appreciating the niceties of method\nand style, and of being affected by the same sort of sentiment,\nillustration, and cool remark, which affects those who have been\naccustomed to be moved and guided by the dumb and lifeless pages of a\nbook. He therefore talks to them calmly, is more anxious for correctness\nthan impression, fears to make more noise or to have more motion than\nthe very letters on his manuscript; addressing himself, as he thinks, to\nthe intellectual part of man; forgetting that the intellectual man is\nnot very easy of access, that it is barred up, and must be approached\nthrough the senses and affections and imagination.\n\nThere was a class of rhetoricians and orators at Rome in the time of\nCicero, who were famous for having made the same mistake. They would do\nevery thing by a fixed and almost mechanical rule, by calculation and\nmeasurement. Their sentences were measured, their gestures were\nmeasured, their tones were measured; and they framed canons of judgment\nand taste, by which it was pronounced an affront on the intellectual\nnature of man to assail him with epithets, and exclamations, and varied\ntones, and emphatic gesture. They censured the free and flowing manner\nof Cicero as \"tumid and exuberant,\" nec satis pressus, supra modum\nexultans et superfluens. They cultivated a more guarded and concise\nstyle, which might indeed please the critic or the scholar, but was\nwholly unfitted to instruct or move a promiscuous audience; as was said\nof one of them, oratio--doctis et attente audientibus erat illustris; a\nmultitudine autem et a foro, cui nata eloquentia est, devorabatur. The\ntaste of the multitude prevailed, and Cicero was the admiration of the\npeople, while those who pruned themselves by a more rigid and\nphilosophical law, _coldly correct and critically dull_, \"were\nfrequently deserted by the audience in the midst of their harangues.\"[2]\n\n    [2] Middleton's Life of Cicero, III. 324.\n\nWe may learn something from this. There is one mode of address for books\nand for classical readers, and another for the mass of men, who judge by\nthe eye and ear, by the fancy and feelings, and know little of rules of\nart or of an educated taste. Hence it is that many of those preachers\nwho have become the classics of a country, have been unattractive to the\nmultitude, who have deserted their polished and careful composition, for\nthe more unrestrained and rousing declamation of another class. The\nsingular success of Chalmers, seems to be in a considerable measure\nowing to his attention to this fact. He has abandoned the pure and\nmeasured style, and adopted a heterogeneous mixture of the gaudy,\npompous, and colloquial, offensive indeed to the ears of literary men,\nbut highly acceptable to those who are less biassed by the authority of\na standard taste and established models. We need not go to the extreme\nof Chalmers,--for there is no necessity for inaccuracy, bombast, or\nfalse taste--but we should doubtless gain by adopting his principle. The\nobject is to address men according to their actual character, and in\nthat mode in which their habits of mind may render them most accessible.\nAs but few are thinkers or readers, a congregation is not to be\naddressed as such; but, their modes of life being remembered, constant\nregard must be had to their need of external attraction. This is most\neasily done by the familiarity and directness of extemporaneous address;\nfor which reason this mode of preaching has peculiar advantages, in its\nadaptation to their situation and wants.\n\nThe truth is, indeed, that it is not the weight of the thought, the\nprofoundness of the argument, the exactness of the arrangement, the\nchoiceness of the language, which interest and chain the attention of\neven those educated hearers, who are able to appreciate them all. They\nare as likely to sleep through the whole as others. They can find all\nthese qualities in much higher perfection in their libraries; they do\nnot seek these only at church. And as to the large mass of the people,\nthey are to them hidden things, of which they discern nothing. It is not\nthese, so much as the attraction of an earnest manner, which arrests the\nattention and makes instruction welcome. Every day's observation may\nshow us, that he who has this manner will retain the attention of even\nan intellectual man with common-place thoughts, while with a different\nmanner he would render tedious the most novel and ingenious\ndisquisitions. Let an indifferent reader take into the pulpit a sermon\nof Barrow or Butler, and all its excellence of argument and eloquence\nwould not save it from being accounted tedious; while an empty declaimer\nshall collect crowds to hang upon his lips in raptures. And this manner,\nwhich is so attractive, is not the studied artificial enunciation of the\nrhetorician's school, but the free, flowing, animated utterance, which\nseems to come from the impulse of the subject; which may be full of\nfaults, yet masters the attention by its nature and sincerity. This is\nprecisely the manner of the extemporaneous speaker--in whom the\ncountenance reflects the emotions of the soul, and the tone of voice is\ntuned to the feelings of the heart, rising and falling with the subject,\nas in conversation, without the regular and harmonious modulation of the\npractised reader.\n\nIn making these and similar remarks, it is true that I am thinking of\nthe best extemporaneous speakers, and that all cannot be such. But it\nought to be recollected at the same time, that all cannot be excellent\n_readers_; that those who speak ill, would probably read still worse;\nand that therefore those who can attain to no eminence as speakers, do\nnot on that account fail of the advantages of which I speak, since they\nescape at least the unnatural monotony of bad reading; than which\nnothing is more earnestly to be avoided.\n\nEvery man utters himself with greater animation and truer emphasis in\nspeaking, than he does, or perhaps can do, in reading. Hence it happens\nthat we can listen longer to a tolerable speaker, than to a good reader.\nThere is an indescribable something in the natural tones of him who is\nexpressing earnestly his present thoughts, altogether foreign from the\ndrowsy uniformity of the man that reads. I once heard it well observed,\nthat the least animated mode of communicating thoughts to others, is the\nreading from a book the composition of another; the next in order is the\nreading one's own composition; the next is delivering one's own\ncomposition memoriter; and the most animated of all is the uttering\none's own thoughts as they rise fresh in his mind. Very few can give the\nspirit to another's writings which they communicate to their own, or can\nread their own with the spirit, with which they spontaneously express\ntheir thoughts. We have all witnessed this in conversation; when we have\nlistened with interest to long harangues from persons, who tire us at\nonce if they begin to read. It is verified at the bar, and in the\nlegislature, where orators maintain the unflagging attention of hearers\nfor a long period, when they could not have read the same speech without\nproducing intolerable fatigue. It is equally verified in the history of\nthe pulpit; for those who are accustomed to the reading of sermons, are\nfor the most part impatient even of able discourses, when they extend\nbeyond the half hour's length; while very indifferent extemporaneous\npreachers are listened to with unabated attention for a full hour. In\nthe former case there is a certain uniformity of tone, and a perpetual\nrecurrence of the same cadences, inseparable from the manner of a\nreader, from which the speaker remains longer free. This difference is\nperfectly well understood, and was acted upon by Cecil, whose success as\na preacher gives him a right to be heard, when he advised young\npreachers to \"limit a written sermon to half an hour, and one from notes\nto forty minutes.\"[3] For the same reason, those preachers whose reading\ncomes nearest to speaking, are universally more interesting than others.\n\n    [3] _Cecil's Remains_--a delightful little book.\n\nThus it is evident that there is an attractiveness in this mode of\npreaching, which gives it peculiar advantages. He imparts greater\ninterest to what he says, who is governed by the impulse of the moment,\nthan he who speaks by rule. When he feels the subject, his voice and\ngesture correspond to that feeling, and communicate it to others as it\ncan be done in no other way. Though he possess but indifferent talents,\nyet if he utter himself with sincerity and feeling, it is far pleasanter\nthan to listen to his cold reading of what he wrote perhaps with little\nexcitement, and delivers with less.\n\nIn thus speaking of the interest which attends an extemporaneous\ndelivery, it is not necessary to pursue the subject into a general\ncomparison of the advantages of this mode with those of reading and of\nreciting from memory. Each has prevailed in different places and at\ndifferent periods, and each undoubtedly has advantages and disadvantages\npeculiar to itself. These are well though briefly stated in the\nexcellent article on Elocution in Rees' Cyclopaedia, to which it will be\nsufficient to refer, as worthy attentive perusal. The question at large\nI cannot undertake to discuss. If I should, I could hardly hope to\nsatisfy either others or myself. The almost universal custom of reading\nin this part of the world, where recitation from memory is scarcely\nknown, and extempore speaking is practised by very few except the\nilliterate, forbids any thing like a fair deduction from observation. In\norder to institute a just comparison, one should have had extensive\nopportunities of watching the success of each mode, and of knowing the\ncircumstances under which each was tried. For in the inquiry, which is\nto be preferred in the pulpit,--we must consider, not which has most\nexcellencies when it is found in perfection, but which has excellencies\nattainable by the largest number of preachers; not which is first in\ntheory or most beautiful as an art, but which has been and is likely to\nbe most successful in practice. These are questions not easily answered.\nEach mode has its advocates and its opponents. In the English church\nthere is nothing but reading, and we hear from every quarter complaints\nof it. In Scotland the custom of recitation prevails, but multitudes\nbesides Dr. Campbell[4] condemn it. In many parts of the continent of\nEurope no method is known, but that of a brief preparation and\nunpremeditated language; but that it should be universally approved by\nthose who use it, is more than we can suppose.\n\n    [4] See his fourth Lecture on Pulpit Eloquence.\n\nThe truth is, that either method may fail in the hands of incompetent or\nindolent men, and either may be thought to succeed by those whose taste\nor prejudices are obstinate in its favor. All that I contend for, in\nadvocating unwritten discourse, is, that this method claims a decided\nsuperiority over the others in some of the most important particulars.\nThat the others have their own advantages, I do not deny, nor that this\nis subject to disadvantages from which they are free. But whatever these\nmay be I hope to show that they are susceptible of a remedy; that they\nare not greater than those which attend other modes; that they are\nbalanced by equal advantages, and that therefore this art deserves to be\ncultivated by all who would do their utmost to render their ministry\nuseful. There can be no good reason why the preacher should confine\nhimself to either mode. It might be most beneficial to cultivate and\npractise all. By this means he might impart something of the advantages\nof each to each, and correct the faults of all by mingling them with the\nexcellencies of all. He would learn to read with more of the natural\naccent of the speaker, and to speak with more of the precision of the\nwriter.\n\nThe remarks already made have been designed to point out some of the\ngeneral advantages attending the use of unprepared language. Some others\nremain to be noticed, which have more particular reference to the\npreacher individually.\n\nIt is no unimportant consideration to a minister of the gospel, that\nthis is a talent held in high estimation among men, and that it gives\nadditional influence to him who possesses it. It is thought to argue\ncapacity and greatness of mind. Fluency of language passes with many,\nand those not always the vulgar, for affluence of thought; and never to\nbe at a loss for something to say, is supposed to indicate inexhaustible\nknowledge. It cannot have escaped the observation of any one accustomed\nto notice the judgments which are passed upon men, how much reputation\nand consequent influence are acquired by the power of speaking readily\nand boldly, without any other considerable talent, and with very\nindifferent acquisitions; and how a man of real talents, learning, and\nworth, has frequently sunk below his proper level, from a mere\nawkwardness and embarrassment in speaking without preparation. So that\nit is not simply superstition which leads so many to refuse the name of\npreaching to any but extemporaneous harangues; it is in part owing to\nthe natural propensity there is to admire, as something wonderful and\nextraordinary, this facility of speech. It is undoubtedly a very\nerroneous standard of judgment. But a minister of the gospel, whose\nsuccess in his important calling depends so much on his personal\ninfluence, and the estimation in which his gifts are held, can hardly be\njustified in slighting the cultivation of a talent, which may so\ninnocently add to his means of influence.\n\nIt must be remembered also, that occasions will sometimes occur, when\nthe want of this power may expose him to mortification, and deprive him\nof an opportunity of usefulness. For such emergencies one would choose\nto be prepared. It may be of consequence that he should express his\nopinion in an ecclesiastical council, and give reasons for the adoption\nor rejection of important measures. Possibly he may be only required to\nstate facts, which have come to his knowledge. It is very desirable to\nbe able to do this readily, fluently, without embarrassment to himself,\nand pleasantly to those who hear; and in order to this, a habit of\nspeaking is necessary. In the course of his ministrations also amongst\nhis own people, occasions will arise when an exhortation or address\nwould be seasonable and useful, but when there is no time for written\npreparation. If then he have cultivated the art of extemporaneous\nspeaking, and attained to any degree of facility and confidence in it,\nhe may avail himself of the opportunity to do good, which he must\notherwise have passed by unimproved. Funerals and baptisms afford\nsuitable occasions of making good religious impressions. A sudden\nprovidence, also, on the very day of the sabbath may suggest most\nvaluable topics of reflection and exhortation, lost to him who is\nconfined to what he may have previously written, but choice treasure to\nhim who can venture to speak without writing. If it were only to avail\nhimself of a few opportunities like these in the course of his life, or\nto save himself but once the mortification of being silent when he ought\nto speak, is expected to speak, and would do good by speaking, it would\nbe well worth all the time and pains it might cost to acquire it.\n\nIt is a further advantage, not to be forgotten here, that the excitement\nof speaking in public strikes out new views of a subject, new\nillustrations, and unthought of figures and arguments, which perhaps\nnever would have presented themselves to the mind in retirement. \"The\nwarmth which animates him,\" says Fenelon, \"gives birth to expressions\nand figures, which he never could have prepared in his study.\" He who\nfeels himself safe in flying off from the path he has prescribed to\nhimself, without any fear lest he should fail to find his way back, will\nreadily seize upon these, and be astonished at the new light which\nbreaks in upon him as he goes on, and flashes all around him. This is\naccording to the experience of all extemporaneous speakers. \"The degree\nin which,\" says Thomas Scott,[5] who practised this method constantly,\n\"after the most careful preparation for the pulpit, new thoughts, new\narguments, animated addresses, often flow into my mind, while speaking\nto a congregation, even on very common subjects, makes me feel as if I\nwas quite another man than when poring over them in my study. There will\nbe inaccuracies; but generally the most striking things in my sermons\nwere unpremeditated.\"\n\n    [5] Life, p. 268.\n\nThen again, the presence of the audience gives a greater seeming reality\nto the work; it is less like doing a task, and more like speaking to\nmen, than when one sits coolly writing at his table. Consequently there\nis likely to be greater plainness and directness in his exhortations,\nmore closeness in his appeals, more of the earnestness of genuine\nfeeling in his expostulations. He ventures, in the warmth of the moment,\nto urge considerations, which perhaps in the study seemed too familiar,\nand to employ modes of address, which are allowable in personal\ncommunion with a friend, but which one hesitates to commit to writing,\nlest he should infringe the dignity of deliberate composition. This\nforgetfulness of self, this unconstrained following the impulse of the\naffections, while he is hurried on by the presence and attention of\nthose whom he hopes to benefit, creates a sympathy between him and his\nhearers, a direct passage from heart to heart, a mutual understanding of\neach other, which does more to effect the true object of religious\ndiscourse, than any thing else can do. The preacher will, in this way,\nhave the boldness to say many things which ought to be said, but about\nwhich, in his study, he would feel reluctant and timid. And granting\nthat he might be led to say some things improperly, yet if his mind be\nwell disciplined, and well governed, and his discretion habitual, he\nwill do it exceedingly seldom; while no one, who estimates the object of\npreaching as highly as he should, will think an occasional false step\nany objection against that mode which ensures upon the whole the\ngreatest boldness and earnestness. He will think it a less fault than\nthe tameness and abstractness, which are the besetting sins of\ndeliberate composition. At any rate, what method is secure from\noccasional false steps?\n\nAnother consideration which recommends this method to the attention of\npreachers, though at the same time it indicates one of its difficulties,\nis this; that all men, from various causes, constitutional or\naccidental, are subject to great inequality in the operations of their\nminds--sometimes laboring with felicity and sometimes failing. Perhaps\nthis fact is in no men so observable as in preachers, because no others\nare so much compelled to labor, and exhibit their labors, at all\nseasons, favorable and unfavorable. There is a certain quantity of the\nseverest mental toil to be performed every week; and as the mind cannot\nbe always in the same frame, they are constantly presenting proofs of\nthe variation of their powers. Now an extemporaneous speaker is of\ncourse exposed to all this inequality of spirits, and must expect to be\nsometimes mortified by ill success. When the moment of speaking arrives,\nhis mind may be slow and dull, his thoughts sluggish and impeded; he may\nbe exhausted by labor, or suffering from temporary indisposition. He\nstrives in vain to rally his powers, and forces his way, with thorough\ndiscomfort and chagrin, to the end of an unprofitable talk. But then how\nmany men _write_ under the same embarrassments, and are equally\ndissatisfied; with the additional mortification of having spent a longer\ntime, and of being unable to give their poor preparation the interest of\na forcible manner, which the very distress of an extemporaneous effort\nwould have imparted.\n\nBut on the other hand, when his mind is bright and clear, and his animal\nspirits lively, he will speak much better after merely a suitable\npremeditation, than he can possibly write. There will be more point and\nvigor and animation, than he could ever throw into writing. \"Every man,\"\nsays Bishop Burnet, \"may thus rise far above what he could ever have\nattained in any other way.\" We see proof of this in conversation. When\nengaged in unrestrained and animated conversation with familiar friends,\nwho is not conscious of having struck out brighter thoughts and happier\nsayings, than he ever put upon paper in the deliberate composition of\nthe closet? It is a common remark concerning many men, that they pray\nmuch better than they preach. The reason is, that their sermons are made\nleisurely and sluggishly, without excitement; but in their public\ndevotions they are strongly engaged, and the mind acts with more\nconcentration and vivacity. The same thing has been observed in the art\nof music. \"There have been organists, whose abilities in unstudied\neffusions on their instruments have almost amounted to inspiration, such\nas Sebastian Bach, Handel, Marchand, Couperin, Kelway, Stanley, Worgan,\nand Keeble; several of whom played better music extempore, than they\ncould write with meditation.\"[6]\n\n    [6] Rees' Cyclopaedia.\n\nIt is upon no different principle that we explain, what all scholars\nhave experienced, that they write best when they write rapidly, from a\nfull and excited mind. One of Pope's precepts is, \"to write with fury\nand correct with phlegm.\" The author of Waverley tells us, \"that the\nworks and passages in which he has succeeded, have uniformly been\nwritten with the greatest rapidity.\" Fenelon's Telemachus is said to\nhave been composed in this way, and sent to the press with one single\nerasure in the manuscript. The celebrated Rockingham Memorial at the\ncommencement of the late war, is said to have been the hasty composition\nof a single evening. And it will be found true, I believe, of many of\nthe best sermon writers, that they revolve the subject till their minds\nare filled and warmed, and then put their discourse upon paper at a\nsingle sitting. Now what is all this but _extemporaneous writing_? and\nwhat does it require but a mind equally collected and at ease, equally\ndisciplined by practice, and interested in the subject, to ensure equal\nsuccess in _extemporaneous speaking_? Nay, we might anticipate\noccasional superior success; since the thoughts sometimes flow, when at\nthe highest and most passionate excitement, too rapidly and profusely\nfor any thing slower than the tongue to afford them vent.\n\nThere is one more consideration in favor of the habit I recommend, which\nI think cannot fail to have weight with all who are solicitous to make\nprogress in theological knowledge; namely, that it redeems time for\nstudy. The labor of preparing and committing to paper a sermon or two\nevery week, is one which necessarily occupies the principal part of a\nminister's time and thoughts, and withdraws him from the investigation\nof many subjects, which, if his mind were more at leisure, it would be\nhis duty and pleasure to pursue. He who _writes_ sermons, is ready to\nconsider this as the chief object, or perhaps the sole business of his\nlife. When not actually engaged in writing, yet the necessity of doing\nit presses upon his mind, and so binds him as to make him feel as if he\nwere wrong in being employed on any thing else. I speak of the tendency,\nwhich certainly is to prevent a man from pursuing, very extensively, any\nprofitable study. But if he have acquired that ready command of thought\nand language, which will enable him to speak without written\npreparation, the time and toil of writing are saved, to be devoted to a\ndifferent mode of study. He may prepare his discourses at intervals of\nleisure, while walking or riding; and having once arranged the outlines\nof the subject, and ascertained its principle bearings and applications,\nthe work of preparation is over. The language remains to be suggested at\nthe moment.\n\nI do not mean by this, that preparation for the pulpit should ever be\nmade slightly, or esteemed an object of small importance. It doubtless\ndemands, and should receive the best of a man's talents and labors. What\nI contend for is, that a habit of mind may be acquired, which shall\nenable one to make a better and more thorough preparation at less\nexpense of labor and time. He may acquire, by discipline, that ease and\npromptitude of looking into subjects and bringing out their prominent\nfeatures, which shall enable him at a glance, as it were, to seize the\npoints on which he should enlarge. Some minds are so constituted as \"to\nlook a subject into shape\" much more readily than others. But the power\nof doing it is in a great measure mechanical, and depends upon habit.\nAll may acquire it to a certain extent. When the mind works with most\nconcentration, it works at once most quickly and most surely. Now the\nact of extempore speaking favors this concentration of the powers, more\nthan the slower process of leisurely writing--perhaps more than any\nother operation; consequently, it increases, with practice, the facility\nof dissecting subjects, and of arranging materials for preaching. In\nother words, the completeness with which a subject is viewed and its\nparts arranged, does not depend so much on the time spent upon it, as on\nthe vigor with which the attention is applied to it. That course of\nstudy is the best, which most favors this vigor of attention; and the\nhabit of extemporaneous speaking is more than any thing favorable to it,\nfrom the necessity which it imposes of applying the mind with energy,\nand thinking promptly.\n\nThe great danger in this case would be, that of substituting an easy\nflow of words for good sense and sober reflection, and becoming\nsatisfied with very superficial thoughts. But this danger is guarded\nagainst by the habit of study, and of writing for other purposes. If a\nman should neglect all mental exertion, except so far as would be\nrequired in the meditation of a sermon, it would be ruinous. We witness\nits disastrous effects in the empty wordiness of many extemporaneous\npreachers. It is wrong however to argue against the practice itself,\nfrom their example; for all other modes would be equally condemned, if\njudged by the ill success of indolent and unfaithful men. The minister\nmust keep himself occupied,--reading, thinking, investigating; thus\nhaving his mind always awake and active. This is a far better\npreparation than the bare writing of sermons, for it exercises the\npowers more, and keeps them bright. The great master of Roman eloquence\nthought it essential to the true orator, that he should be familiar with\nall sciences, and have his mind filled with every variety of knowledge.\nHe therefore, much as he studied his favorite art, yet occupied more\ntime in literature, philosophy, and politics, than in the composition of\nhis speeches. His preparation was less particular than general. So it\nhas been with other eminent speakers. When Sir Samuel Romilly was in\nfull practice in the High Court of Chancery, and at the same time\noverwhelmed with the pressure of public political concerns; his custom\nwas to enter the court, to receive there the history of the cause he was\nto plead, thus to acquaint himself with the circumstances for the first\ntime, and forthwith proceed to argue it. His general preparation and\nlong practice enabled him to do this, without failing in justice to his\ncause. I do not know that in this he was singular. The same sort of\npreparation would ensure success in the pulpit. He who is always\nthinking, may expend upon each individual effort less time, because he\ncan think at once fast and well. But he who never thinks, except when\nattempting to manufacture a sermon (and it is to be feared there are\nsuch men), must devote a great deal of time to this labor exclusively;\nand after all, he will not have that wide range of thought or\ncopiousness of illustration, which his office demands and which study\nonly can give.\n\nIn fact, what I have here insisted upon, is exemplified in the case of\nthe extemporaneous _writers_, whom I have already named. I would only\ncarry their practice a step further, and devote an hour to a discourse\ninstead of a day. Not to all discourses, for some ought to be written\nfor the sake of writing, and some demand a sort of investigation, to\nwhich the use of the pen is essential. But then a very large proportion\nof the topics on which a minister should preach, have been subjects of\nhis attention a thousand times. He is thoroughly familiar with them; and\nan hour to arrange his ideas and collect illustrations, is abundantly\nsufficient. The late Thomas Scott is said for years to have prepared his\ndiscourses entirely by meditation on the Sunday, and thus gained leisure\nfor his extensive studies, and great and various labors. This is an\nextreme on which few have a right to venture, and which should be\nrecommended to none. It shows, however, the power of habit, and the\nability of a mind to act promptly and effectually, which is kept upon\nthe alert by constant occupation. He who is always engaged in thinking\nand studying, will always have thoughts enough for a sermon, and good\nones too, which will come at an hour's warning.\n\nThe objections which may be made to the practice I have sought to\nrecommend, I must leave to be considered in another place. I am\ndesirous, in concluding this chapter, to add the favorable testimony of\na writer, who expressly disapproves the practice in general, but who\nallows its excellence when accompanied by that preparation which I would\nevery where imply.\n\n\"You are accustomed,\" says Dinouart,[7] \"to the careful study and\nimitation of nature. You have used yourself to writing and speaking with\ncare on different subjects, and have well stored your memory by reading.\nYou thus have provided resources for speaking, which are always at hand.\nThe best authors and the best thoughts are familiar to you; you can\nreadily quote the scriptures, you express yourself easily and\ngracefully, you have a sound and correct judgment on which you can\ndepend, method and precision in the arrangement of proofs; you can\nreadily connect each part by natural transitions, and are able to say\nall that belongs, and precisely what belongs to the subject. You may\nthen take only a day, or only an hour, to reflect on your subject, to\narrange your topics, to consult your memory, to choose and to prepare\nyour illustrations,--and then, appear in public. I am perfectly willing\nthat you should. The common expressions which go to make up the body of\nthe discourse, will present themselves spontaneously. Your periods,\nperhaps, will be less harmonious, your transitions less ingenious, an\nill placed word will sometimes escape you; but all this is pardonable.\nThe animation of your delivery will compensate for these blemishes, and\nyou will be master of your own feelings, and those of your hearers.\nThere will, perhaps, be apparent throughout a certain disorder, but it\nwill not prevent your pleasing and affecting me; your action as well as\nyour words will appear to me the more natural.\"\n\n    [7] Sur l'Eloquence du Corps, ou L'Action du Predicateur.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nAgainst what has been advanced in the preceding pages, many objections\nwill be urged, and the evils of the practice I recommend be declared\nmore than sufficient to counterbalance its advantages. Of these it is\nnecessary that I should now take notice, and obviate them as well as I\nmay.\n\nIt should be first of all remarked, that the force of the objections\ncommonly made, lies against the exclusive use of extempore preaching,\nand not against its partial and occasional use. It is of consequence\nthat this should be considered. There can be no doubt, that he would\npreach very wretchedly, who should always be haranguing without the\ncorrective discipline of writing. The habit of writing is essential.\nMany of the objections which are currently made to this mode of address,\nfall to the ground when this statement is made.\n\nOther objections have been founded on the idea, that by _extemporaneous_\nis meant, _unpremeditated_. Whereas there is a plain and important\ndistinction between them, the latter word being applied to the thoughts,\nand the former to the language only. To preach without premeditation, is\naltogether unjustifiable; although there is no doubt that a man of\nhabitual readiness of mind, may express himself to the greatest\nadvantage on a subject with which he is familiar, after very little\nmeditation.\n\nMany writers on the art of preaching, as well as on eloquence in\ngeneral, have given a decided judgment unfavorable to extempore\nspeaking. There can be no fairer way of answering their objections, than\nby examining what they have advanced, and opposing their authority by\nthat of equal names on the other side.\n\nGerard, in his Treatise on the Pastoral Charge, has the following\npassage on this subject.\n\n\"He will run into trite, common-place topics; his compositions will be\nloose and unconnected; his language often coarse and confused; and\ndiffidence, or care to recollect his subject, will destroy the\nmanagement of his voice.\" At the same time, however, he admits that \"it\nis very proper that a man should be able to preach in this way, when it\nis necessary;--but no man ought always to preach in this way.\" To which\ndecision I have certainly nothing to object.\n\nMason, in his Student and Pastor, says to the same effect, that \"the\ninaccuracy of diction, the inelegance, poverty, and lowness of\nexpression, which is commonly observed in extempore discourses, will not\nfail to offend every hearer of good taste.\"\n\nDinouart,[8] who is an advocate for recitation from memory, says that\n\"experience decides against extemporaneous preaching, though there are\nexceptions; but these are very few; and we must not be led astray by the\nsuccess of a few first rate orators.\"\n\n    [8] Sur l'Eloquence du Corps, ou l'Action du Predicateur.\n\nHume, in his Essay upon Eloquence, expresses an opinion that the modern\ndeficiency in this art is to be attributed to \"that extreme affectation\nof extempore speaking, which has led to extreme carelessness of method.\"\n\nThe writer of an article, on the Greek Orators, in the Edinburgh\nReview,[9] observes, that \"among the sources of the corruption of modern\neloquence, may clearly be distinguished as the most fruitful, the habit\nof extempore speaking, acquired rapidly by persons who frequent popular\nassemblies, and, beginning at the wrong end, attempt to speak before\nthey have studied the art of oratory, or even duly stored their minds\nwith the treasures of thought and language, which can only be drawn from\nassiduous intercourse with the ancient and modern classics.\"\n\n    [9] No. LXXI. p. 82.\n\nThese are the prominent objections which have been made to the practice\nin question. Without denying that they have weight, I think it may be\nmade to appear that they have not the unquestionable preponderance,\nwhich is assumed for them. They will be found, on examination, to be the\nobjections of a cultivated taste, and to be drawn from the examples of\nundisciplined men, who ought to be left entirely out of the question.\n\n1. The objection most urged is that which relates to style. It is said,\nthe expression will be poor, inelegant, inaccurate, and offensive to\nhearers of taste.\n\nTo those who urge this it may be replied, that the reason why style is\nan important consideration in the pulpit, is, not that the taste of the\nhearers may be gratified, for but a small part of any congregation is\ncapable of taking cognizance of this matter;--but solely for the purpose\nof presenting the speaker's thoughts, reasonings, and expostulations\ndistinctly and forcibly to the minds of his hearers. If this be\neffected, it is all which can reasonably be demanded. And I ask if it be\nnot notorious, that an earnest and appropriate elocution will give this\neffect to a poor style, and that poor speaking will take it away from\nthe most exact and emphatic style? Is it not also notorious that the\npeculiar earnestness of spontaneous speech, is, above all others, suited\nto arrest the attention, and engage the feelings of an audience? and\nthat the mere reading of a piece of fine composition, under the notion\nthat careful thought and finished diction are the only things needful,\nleaves the majority uninterested in the discourse, and free to think of\nany thing they please? \"It is a poor compliment,\" says Blair, \"that one\nis an accurate reasoner, if he be not a persuasive speaker also.\" It is\na small matter that the style is poor, so long as it answers the great\npurpose of instructing and affecting men. So that, as I have more fully\nshown in a former place, the objection lies on an erroneous foundation.\n\nBesides, if it were not so, it will be found quite as strong against the\n_writing_ of sermons. For how large a proportion of sermon writers have\nthese very same faults of style! what a great want of force, neatness,\ncompactness, is there in the composition of most preachers! what\nweakness, inelegance, and inconclusiveness; and how small improvement do\nthey make, even after the practice of years! How happens this? It is\nbecause they do not make this an object of attention and study; and some\nmight be unable to attain it if they did. But that watchfulness and care\nwhich secure a correct and neat style in writing, would also secure it\nin speaking. It does not naturally belong to the one, more than to the\nother, and may be as certainly attained in each by the proper pains.\nIndeed so far as my observation has extended, I am not certain that\nthere is not as large a proportion of extempore speakers, whose diction\nis exact and unexceptionable, as of writers--always taking into view\ntheir education, which equally affects the one and the other. And it is\na consideration of great weight, that the faults in question are far\nless offensive in speakers than in writers.\n\nIt is apparent that objectors of this sort are guilty of a double\nmistake; first, in laying too great stress upon mere defects of style,\nand then in taking for granted, that these are unavoidable. They might\nas well insist that defects of written style are unavoidable. Whereas\nthey are the consequence of the negligent mode in which the art has been\nstudied, and its having been given up, for the most part, to ignorant\nand fanatical pretenders. Let it be diligently cultivated by educated\nmen, and we shall find no more cause to expel it from the pulpit than\nfrom the forum or the parliament. \"Poverty, inelegance, and poorness of\ndiction,\" will be no longer so \"generally observed,\" and even hearers of\ntaste will cease to be offended.\n\n2. A want of order, a rambling, unconnected, desultory manner, is\ncommonly objected; as Hume styles it, \"extreme carelessness of method;\"\nand this is so often observed, as to be justly an object of dread. But\nthis is occasioned by that indolence and want of discipline to which we\nhave just alluded. It is not a necessary evil. If a man have never\nstudied the art of speaking, nor passed through a course of preparatory\ndiscipline; if he have so rash and unjustifiable a confidence in\nhimself, that he will undertake to speak, without having considered what\nhe shall say, what object he shall aim at, or by what steps he shall\nattain it; the inevitable consequence will be confusion,\ninconclusiveness, and wandering. Who recommends such a course? But he\nwho has first trained himself to the work, and whenever he would speak,\nhas surveyed his ground, and become familiar with the points to be dwelt\nupon, and the course of reasoning and track of thought to be followed;\nwill go on from one step to another, in an easy and natural order, and\ngive no occasion to the complaint of confusion or disarrangement.\n\n\"Some preachers,\" says Dinouart, \"have the folly to think that they can\nmake sermons impromptu. And what a piece of work they make! They bolt\nout every thing which comes into their head. They take for granted, what\nought to be proved, or perhaps they state half the argument, and forget\nthe rest. Their appearance corresponds to the state of their mind, which\nis occupied in hunting after some way of finishing the sentence they\nhave begun. They repeat themselves; they wander off in digression. They\nstand stiff without moving; or if they are of a lively temperament, they\nare full of the most turbulent action; their eyes and hands are flying\nabout in every direction, and their words choke in their throats. They\nare like men swimming, who have got frightened, and throw about their\nhands and feet at random, to save themselves from drowning.\"\n\nThere is doubtless great truth in this humorous description. But what is\nthe legitimate inference? that extemporaneous speaking is altogether\nridiculous and mischievous? or only that it is an art which requires\nstudy and diligence, and which no man should presume to practice, until\nhe has fitted himself for it?\n\n3. In the same way I should dispose of the objection, that this habit\nleads to barrenness in preaching, and the everlasting repetition of the\nsame sentiments and topics. If a man make his facility of speech an\nexcuse for the neglect of all study, then doubtless this will be the\nresult. He who cannot resist his indolent propensities, had best avoid\nthis occasion of temptation. He must be able to command himself to\nthink, and industriously prepare himself by meditation, if he would be\nsafe in this hazardous experiment. He who does this, and continues to\nlearn and reflect while he preaches, will be no more empty and\nmonotonous than if he carefully wrote every word.\n\n4. But this temptation to indolence in the preparation for the desk, is\nurged as in itself a decisive objection. A man finds, that after a\nlittle practice, it is an exceedingly easy thing to fill up his\nhalf-hour with declamation which shall pass off very well, and hence he\ngrows negligent in previous meditation; and insensibly degenerates into\nan empty exhorter, without choice of language, or variety of ideas. This\nis undoubtedly the great and alarming danger of this practice. This must\nbe triumphed over, or it is ruinous. We see examples of it wherever we\nlook among those whose preaching is exclusively extempore. In these\ncases, the evil rises to its magnitude in consequence of their total\nneglect of the pen. The habit of writing a certain proportion of the\ntime would, in some measure, counteract this dangerous tendency.\n\nBut it is still insisted, that man's natural love of ease is not to be\ntrusted; that he will not long continue the drudgery of writing in part;\nthat when he has once gained confidence to speak without study, he will\nfind it so flattering to his indolence, that he will involuntarily give\nhimself up to it, and relinquish the pen altogether; that consequently\nthere is no security, except in never beginning.\n\nTo this it may be replied, that they who have not principle and\nself-government enough to keep them industrious, will not be kept so by\nbeing compelled to write sermons. I think we have abundant proof, that a\nman may write with as little pains and thinking, as he can speak. It by\nno means follows, that because it is on paper, it is therefore the\nresult of study. And if it be not, it will be greatly inferior, in point\nof effect, to an unpremeditated declamation; for in the latter case,\nthere will probably be at least a temporary excitement of feeling, and\nconsequent vivacity of manner, while in the former the indolence of the\nwriter will be made doubly intolerable by his heaviness in reading.\n\nIt cannot be doubted, however, that if any one find his facility of\nextemporaneous invention, likely to prove destructive to his habits of\ndiligent and careful application; it were advisable that he refrain from\nthe practice. It could not be worth while for him to lose his habits of\nstudy and thinking for the sake of an ability to speak, which would\navail him but little, after his ability to think has been weakened or\ndestroyed.\n\nAs for those whose indolence habitually prevails over principle, and who\nmake no preparation for duty excepting the mechanical one of covering\nover a certain number of pages,--they have no concern in the ministry,\nand should be driven to seek some other employment, where their\nmechanical labor may provide them a livelihood, without injuring their\nown souls, or those of other men.\n\nIf the objection in question be applied to conscientious men, whose\nhearts are in their profession, and who have a sincere desire to do\ngood, it certainly has very little weight. The minds of such men are\nkept active with reflection, and stored with knowledge, and warm with\nreligious feeling. They are therefore always ready to speak to the\npurpose, as well as write to the purpose; and their habitual sense of\nthe importance of their office, and their anxiety to fulfil it in the\nbest manner, will forbid that indolence which is so disastrous. The\nobjection implies, that the consequence pointed out is one which cannot\nbe avoided. Experience teaches us the contrary. It is the tendency--but\na tendency which may be, for it has been, counteracted. Many have\npreached in this mode for years, and yet have never relaxed their\ndiligence in study, nor declined in the variety, vigor, and interest of\ntheir discourses;--sometimes dull, undoubtedly; but this may be said\nwith equal truth of the most faithful and laborious writers.\n\n5. Many suppose that there is a certain natural talent, essential to\nsuccess in extempore speaking, no less than in poetry; and that it is\nabsurd to recommend the art to those who have not this peculiar talent,\nand vain for them to attempt its practice.\n\nIn regard to that ready flow of words, which seems to be the natural\ngift of some men, it is of little consequence whether it be really such,\nor be owing to the education and habits of early life, and vain\nself-confidence. It is certain that the want of habit, and diffidence\nare great hindrances to fluency of speech; and it is equally certain,\nthat this natural fluency is a very questionable advantage to him who\nwould be an impressive speaker. It is quite observable that those who at\nfirst talk easiest, do not always talk best. Their very facility is a\nsnare to them. It serves to keep them content; they make no effort to\nimprove, and are likely to fall into slovenly habits of elocution. So\nthat this unacquired fluency is so far from essential, that it is not\neven a benefit, and it may be an injury. It keeps from final eminence by\nthe very greatness of its early promise. On the other hand, he who\npossesses originally no remarkable command of language, and whom an\nunfortunate bashfulness prevents from well using what he has; is obliged\nto subject himself to severe discipline, to submit to rules and tasks,\nto go through a tedious process of training, to acquire by much labor\nthe needful sway over his thoughts and words, so that they shall come at\nhis bidding, and not be driven away by his own diffidence, or the\npresence of other men. To do all this, is a long and disheartening\nlabor. He is exposed to frequent mortifications, and must endure many\ngrievous failures, before he attain that confidence which is\nindispensable to success. But then in this discipline, his powers,\nmental and moral, are strained up to the highest intenseness of action;\nafter persevering practice, they become habitually subject to his\ncontrol, and work with a precision, exactness, and energy, which can\nnever be the possession of him, who has depended on his native,\nundisciplined gift. Of the truth of this, examples are by no means\nwanting, and I could name, if it were proper, more than one striking\ninstance within my own observation. It was probably this to which Newton\nreferred, when he said, that he never spoke well till he felt that he\ncould not speak at all. Let no one therefore think it an obstacle in his\nway that he has no readiness of words. If he have good sense and no\ndeficiency of talent, and is willing to labor for this as all great\nacquisitions must be labored for, he needs not fear but that in time he\nwill attain it.\n\nWe must be careful, however, not to mistake the object to be attained.\nIt is not a high rank in oratory, consummate eloquence. If it were, then\nindeed a young man might pause till he had ascertained whether he\npossessed all those extraordinary endowments of intellect, imagination,\nsensibility, countenance, voice, and person, which belong to few men in\na century, and without which the great orator does not exist. He is one\nof those splendid formations of nature, which she exhibits but rarely;\nand it is not necessary to the object of his pursuit that the minister\nbe such. The aim and purpose of his office are less ambitious, to impart\ninstruction and do good; and it is by no means certain that the greatest\neloquence is best adapted to these purposes in the pulpit. But any man,\nwith powers which fit him for the ministry at all,--unless there be a\nfew extraordinary exceptions--is capable of learning to express himself\nclearly, correctly, and with method; and this is precisely what is\nwanted, and no more than this. I do not say eloquently; for as it is not\nthought indispensable that every writer of sermons should be eloquent,\nit cannot be thought essential that every speaker should be so. But the\nsame powers which have enabled him to write, will, with sufficient\ndiscipline, enable him to speak; with every probability that when he\ncomes to speak with the same ease and collectedness, he will do it with\na nearer approach to eloquence. Without such discipline he has no right\nto hope for success; let him not say that success is impossible, until\nhe has submitted to it.\n\nI apprehend that these remarks will be found not only correct in theory,\nbut agreeable to experience. With the exceeding little systematic\ncultivation of the art which there is amongst us, and no actual\ninstruction, we find that a great majority of the lawyers in our courts,\nand not a small portion of the members of our legislatures, are able to\nargue and debate. In some of the most popular and quite numerous\nreligious sects, we find preachers enough, who are able to communicate\ntheir thoughts and harangue their congregations, and exert very powerful\nand permanent influence over large bodies of the people. Some of these\nare men of as small natural talents and as limited education, as any\nthat enter the sacred office. It should seem therefore that no one needs\nto despair.\n\nIn the ancient republics of Greece and Rome, this accomplishment was a\nnecessary branch of a finished education. A much smaller proportion of\nthe citizens were educated than amongst us; but of these a much larger\nnumber became orators. No man could hope for distinction or influence,\nand yet slight this art.[10] The commanders of their armies were orators\nas well as soldiers, and ruled as well by their rhetorical as by their\nmilitary skill. There was no trusting with them as with us, to a natural\nfacility, or the acquisition of an accidental fluency by actual\npractice. But they served an apprenticeship to the art. They passed\nthrough a regular course of instruction in schools. They submitted to\nlong and laborious discipline. They exercised themselves frequently,\nboth before equals and in the presence of teachers, who criticised,\nreproved, rebuked, excited emulation, and left nothing undone which art\nand perseverance could accomplish. The greatest orators of antiquity, so\nfar from being favored by natural tendencies, except indeed in their\nhigh intellectual endowments, had to struggle against natural obstacles;\nand instead of growing up spontaneously to their unrivalled eminence,\nthey forced themselves forward by the most discouraging artificial\nprocess. Demosthenes combated an impediment in speech and ungainliness\nof gesture, which at first drove him from the forum in disgrace. Cicero\nfailed at first through weakness of lungs, and an excessive vehemence of\nmanner, which wearied the hearers and defeated his own purpose. These\ndefects were conquered by study and discipline. Cicero exiled himself\nfrom home, and during his absence in various lands passed not a day\nwithout a rhetorical exercise; seeking the masters who were most severe\nin criticism, as the surest means of leading him to the perfection at\nwhich he aimed. Such too was the education of their other great men.\nThey were all, according to their ability and station, orators; orators,\nnot by nature or accident, but by education; formed in a strict process\nof rhetorical training; admired and followed even while Demosthenes and\nCicero were living, and unknown now, only because it is not possible\nthat any but the first should survive the ordeal of ages.\n\n    [10] It is often said that extemporaneous speaking is the\n         distinction of modern eloquence. But the whole language of\n         Cicero's rhetorical works, as well as particular terms in\n         common use, and anecdotes recorded of different speakers,\n         prove the contrary; not to mention Quinctilian's express\n         instructions on the subject. Hume, also, tells us from\n         Suidas, that the writing of speeches was unknown until the\n         time of Pericles.\n\nThe inference to be drawn from these observations, is, that if so many\nof those who received an accomplished education became accomplished\norators, because to become so was one purpose of their study; then it is\nin the power of a much larger proportion amongst us, to form themselves\ninto creditable and accurate speakers. The inference should not be\ndenied until proved false by experiment. Let this art be made an object\nof attention, and young men train themselves to it faithfully and long;\nand if any of competent talents and tolerable science be found at last\nincapable of expressing themselves in continued and connected discourse,\nso as to answer the ends of the christian ministry; then, and not till\nthen, let it be said that a peculiar talent or natural aptitude is\nrequisite, the want of which must render effort vain; then, and not till\nthen, let us acquiesce in this indolent and timorous notion, which\ncontradicts the whole testimony of antiquity, and all the experience of\nthe world. Doubtless, after the most that can be done, there will be\nfound the greatest variety of attainment; \"men will differ,\" as Burnet\nremarks, \"quite as much as in their written compositions;\" and some will\ndo but poorly what others will do excellently. But this is likewise true\nof every other art in which men engage, and not least so of writing\nsermons; concerning which no one will say, that as poor are not written,\nas it would be possible for any one to speak. In truth, men of small\ntalents and great sluggishness, of a feeble sense of duty and no zeal,\nwill of course make poor sermons, by whatever process they may do it,\nlet them write or let them speak. It is doubtful concerning some whether\nthey would even steal good ones.\n\nThe survey we have now taken, renders it evident, that the evils, which\nare principally objected against as attending this mode of preaching,\nare not necessary evils, but are owing to insufficient study and\npreparation before the practice is commenced, and indolence afterward.\nThis is implied in the very expressions of the objectors themselves, who\nattribute the evil to \"beginning at the wrong end, attempting to speak\nbefore studying the art of oratory, or even storing the mind with\ntreasures of thought and language.\" It is, also, implied in this\nlanguage, that study and preparation are capable of removing the\nobjections. I do not therefore advocate the art, without insisting on\nthe necessity of severe discipline and training. No man should be\nencouraged or permitted to adopt it, who will not take the necessary\npains, and proceed with the necessary perseverance.\n\nThis should be the more earnestly insisted upon, because it is from our\nloose and lazy notions on the subject, that eloquence in every\ndepartment is suffering so much, and that the pulpit especially has\nbecome so powerless, where the most important things that receive\nutterance upon earth, are read like schoolboys' tasks, without even the\npoor pains to lay emphasis on the right words, and to pause in the right\nplaces. And this, because we fancy that, if nature have not designed us\nfor orators, it is vain to make effort, and if she have, we shall be\nsuch without effort. True, that the noble gifts of mind are from nature;\nbut not language, or knowledge, or accent, or tone, or gesture; these\nare to be learned, and it is with these that the speaker is concerned.\nThese are all matters of acquisition, and of difficult acquisition;\npossible to be attained, and well worth the exertion that must be made.\n\nThe history of the world is full of testimony to prove how much depends\nupon industry; not an eminent orator has lived, but is an example of it.\nYet in contradiction to all this, the almost universal feeling appears\nto be, that industry can effect nothing, that eminence is the result of\naccident, and that every one must be content to remain just what he may\nhappen to be. Thus multitudes, who come forward as teachers and guides,\nsuffer themselves to be satisfied with the most indifferent attainments,\nand a miserable mediocrity, without so much as inquiring how they might\nrise higher, much less making any attempt to rise. For any other art\nthey would have served an apprenticeship, and would be ashamed to\npractise it in public before they had learned it. If any one would sing,\nhe attends a master, and is drilled in the very elementary principles;\nand only after the most laborious process dares to exercise his voice in\npublic. This he does, though he has scarce any thing to learn but the\nmechanical execution of what lies in sensible forms before his eye. But\nthe extempore speaker, who is to invent as well as to utter, to carry on\nan operation of the mind as well as to produce sound, enters upon the\nwork without preparatory discipline, and then wonders that he fails! If\nhe were learning to play on the flute for public exhibition, what hours\nand days would he spend in giving facility to his fingers, and attaining\nthe power of the sweetest and most impressive execution. If he were\ndevoting himself to the organ, what months and years would he labor,\nthat he might know its compass, and be master of its keys, and be able\nto draw out, at will, all its various combinations of harmonious sound,\nand its full richness and delicacy of expression. And yet he will fancy\nthat the grandest, the most various, the most expressive of all\ninstruments, which the infinite Creator has fashioned by the union of an\nintellectual soul with the powers of speech, may be played upon without\nstudy or practice; he comes to it, a mere uninstructed tyro, and thinks\nto manage all its stops, and command the whole compass of its varied and\ncomprehensive power! He finds himself a bungler in the attempt, is\nmortified at his failure, and settles it in his mind forever that the\nattempt is vain.\n\nSuccess in every art, whatever may be the natural talent, is always the\nreward of industry and pains. But the instances are many of men of the\nfinest natural genius, whose beginning has promised much, but who have\ndegenerated wretchedly as they advanced, because they trusted to their\ngifts, and made no effort to improve. That there have never been other\nmen of equal endowments with Demosthenes and Cicero, none would venture\nto suppose; but who have so devoted themselves to their art, or become\nequal in excellence? If those great men had been content, like others,\nto continue as they began, and had never made their persevering efforts\nfor improvement, what would their countries have benefited from their\ngenius, or the world have known of their fame? They would have been lost\nin the undistinguished crowd, that sunk to oblivion around them. Of how\nmany more will the same remark prove true! What encouragement is thus\ngiven to the industrious! With such encouragement, how inexcusable is\nthe negligence which suffers the most interesting and important truths,\nto seem heavy and dull, and fall ineffectual to the ground, through mere\nsluggishness in their delivery! How unworthy of one who performs the\nhigh function of a religious instructer, upon whom depend, in a great\nmeasure, the religious knowledge and devotional sentiment and final\ncharacter of many fellow beings,--to imagine that he can worthily\ndischarge this great concern by occasionally talking for an hour, he\nknows not how, and in a manner which he has taken no pains to render\ncorrect, impressive, or attractive; and which, simply through want of\nthat command over himself which study would give, is immethodical,\nverbose, inaccurate, feeble, trifling. It has been said of the good\npreacher, that \"truths divine come mended from his tongue.\" Alas, they\ncome ruined and worthless from such a man as this. They lose that holy\nenergy by which they are to convert the soul and purify man for heaven,\nand sink, in interest and efficacy, below the level of those principles\nwhich govern the ordinary affairs of this lower world.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nThe observations contained in the preceding chapter make it sufficiently\nevident, that the art of extemporaneous speaking, however advantageous\nto the christian minister, and however possible to be acquired, is yet\nattended with embarrassments and difficulties, which are to be removed\nonly by long and arduous labor. It is not enough, however, to insist\nupon the necessity of this discipline. We must know in what it consists,\nand how it is to be conducted. In completing, therefore, the plan I have\nproposed to myself, I am now to give a few hints respecting the mode in\nwhich the study is to be carried on, and obstacles to be surmounted.\nThese hints, gathered partly from experience and partly from observation\nand books, will be necessarily incomplete; but not, it is hoped,\naltogether useless to those who are asking some direction.\n\n1. The first thing to be observed is, that the student who would acquire\nfacility in this art, should bear it constantly in mind, and have regard\nto it in all his studies, and in his whole mode of study. The reason is\nvery obvious. He that would become eminent in any pursuit, must make it\nthe primary and almost exclusive object of his attention. It must never\nbe long absent from his thoughts, and he must be contriving how to\npromote it, in every thing he undertakes. It is thus that the miser\naccumulates, by making the most trifling occurrences the occasions of\ngain; and thus the ambitious man is on the alert to forward his purposes\nof advancement by little events which another would pass unobserved. So\ntoo he, the business of whose life is preaching, should be on the watch\nto render every thing subservient to this end. The inquiry should always\nbe, how he can turn the knowledge he is acquiring, the subject he is\nstudying, this mode of reasoning, this event, this conversation, and the\nconduct of this or that man, to aid the purposes of religious\ninstruction. He may find an example in the manner in which Pope pursued\nhis favorite study. \"From his attention to poetry,\" says Johnson, \"he\nwas never diverted. If conversation offered any thing that could be\nimproved, he committed it to paper; if a thought, or perhaps an\nexpression more happy than was common, rose to his mind, he was careful\nto write it; an independent distich was preserved for an opportunity of\ninsertion, and some little fragments have been found containing lines,\nor parts of lines, to be wrought upon at some other time.\" By a like\nhabitual and vigilant attention, the preacher will find scarce any thing\nbut may be made to minister to his great design, by either giving rise\nto some new train of thought, or suggesting an argument, or placing some\ntruth in a new light, or furnishing some useful illustration. Thus none\nof his reading will be lost; every poem and play, every treatise on\nscience, and speculation in philosophy, and even every ephemeral tale\nmay be made to give hints toward the better management of sermons and\nthe more effectual proposing and communicating of truth.\n\nHe who proposes to himself the art of extemporaneous speaking should\nthus have constant regard to this particular object, and make every\nthing co-operate to form those habits of mind which are essential to it.\nThis may be done not only without any hindrance to the progress of his\nother studies, but even so as to promote them. The most important\nrequisites are rapid thinking, and ready command of language. By rapid\nthinking I mean, what has already been spoken of, the power of seizing\nat once upon the most prominent points of the subject to be discussed,\nand tracing out, in their proper order, the subordinate thoughts which\nconnect them together. This power depends very much upon habit; a habit\nmore easily acquired by some minds than by others, and by some with\ngreat difficulty. But there are few who, should they have a view to the\nformation of such a habit in all their studies, might not attain it in a\ndegree quite adequate to their purpose. This is much more indisputably\ntrue in regard to fluency of language.\n\nLet it, therefore, be a part of his daily care to analyze the subjects\nwhich come before him, and to frame sketches of sermons. This will aid\nhim to acquire a facility in laying open, dividing, and arranging\ntopics, and preparing those outlines which he is to take with him into\nthe pulpit. Let him also investigate carefully the method of every\nauthor he reads, marking the divisions of his arrangement, and the\nconnexion and train of his reasoning. Butler's preface to his Sermons\nwill afford him some fine hints on this way of study. Let this be his\nhabitual mode of reading, so that he shall as much do this, as receive\nthe meaning of separate sentences, and shall be always able to give a\nbetter account of the progress of the argument and the relation of every\npart to the others and to the whole, than of merely individual passages\nand separate illustrations. This will infallibly beget a readiness in\nfinding the divisions and boundaries of a subject, which is one\nimportant requisite to an easy and successful speaker.\n\nIn a similar manner, let him always bear in mind the value of a fluent\nand correct use of language. Let him not be negligent of this in his\nconversation; but be careful ever to select the best words, to avoid a\nslovenly style and drawling utterance, and to aim at neatness, force,\nand brevity. This may be done without formality, or stiffness, or\npedantic affectation; and when settled into a habit is invaluable.\n\n2. In addition to this general cultivation, there should be frequent\nexercise of the act of speaking. Practice is essential to perfection in\nany art, and in none more so than in this. No man reads well or writes\nwell, except by long practice; and he cannot expect without it to speak\nwell, an operation which is equivalent to the other two united. He may\nindeed get along, as the phrase is; but not so well as he might do and\nshould do. He may not always be able even to get along. He may be as\nsadly discomfited as a friend of mine, who said that he had made the\nattempt, and was convinced that for him to speak extempore was\nimpossible; he had risen from his study table, and tried to make a\nspeech, proving that virtue is better than vice; but was obliged to sit\ndown without completing it. How could one hope to do better in a first\nattempt, if he had not considered beforehand what he should say? It were\nas rational to think he could play on the organ without having learned,\nor translate from a language he had never studied.\n\nIt would not be too much to require of the student, that he should\nexercise himself every day, once at least, if not oftener; and this, on\na variety of subjects, and in various ways, that he may attain a\nfacility in every mode. It would be a pleasant interchange of employment\nto rise from the subject which occupies his thoughts, or from the book\nhe is reading, and repeat to himself the substance of what he has just\nperused, with such additions and variations, or criticisms, as may\nsuggest themselves at the moment. There could hardly be a more useful\nexercise, even if there were no reference to this particular end. How\nmany excellent chapters of valuable authors, how many fine views of\nimportant subjects, would be thus impressed upon his mind, and what rich\ntreasures of thought and language would be thus laid up in store. And\naccording as he should be engaged in a work of reasoning, or\ndescription, or exhortation, or narrative, he would be attaining the\npower of expressing himself readily in each of these various styles. By\npursuing this course for two or three years, \"a man may render himself\nsuch a master in this matter,\" says Burnet, \"that he can never be\nsurprised;\" and he adds, that he never knew a man faithfully to pursue\nthe plan of study he proposed, without being successful at last.\n\n3. When by such a course of study and discipline he has attained a\ntolerable fluency of thoughts and words, and a moderate confidence in\nhis own powers; there are several things to be observed in first\nexercising the gift in public, in order to ensure comfort and success.\n\nIt is recommended by Bishop Burnet and others, that the first attempts\nbe made by short excursions from written discourses; like the young bird\nthat tries its wings by short flights, till it gradually acquires\nstrength and courage to sustain itself longer in the air. This advice is\nundoubtedly judicious. For he may safely trust himself in a few\nsentences, who would be confounded in the attempt to frame a whole\ndiscourse. For this purpose blanks may be left in writing, where the\nsentiment is familiar, or only a short illustration is to be introduced.\nAs success in these smaller attempts gives him confidence, he may\nproceed to larger; till at length, when his mind is bright and his\nfeelings engaged, he may quit his manuscript altogether, and present the\nsubstance of what he had written, with greater fervor and effect, than\nif he had confined himself to his paper. It was once observed to me by\nan interesting preacher of the Baptist denomination, that he had found\nfrom experience this to be the most advisable and perfect mode; since it\ncombined the advantages of written and extemporaneous composition. By\npreparing sermons in this way, he said, he had a shelter and security if\nhis mind should be dull at the time of delivery; and if it were active,\nhe was able to leave what he had written, and obey the ardor of his\nfeelings, and go forth on the impulse of the moment, wherever his spirit\nmight lead him. A similar remark I heard made by a distinguished scholar\nof the Methodist connexion, who urged, what is universally asserted by\nthose who have tried this method with any success, that what has been\nwritten is found to be tame and spiritless, in comparison with the\nanimated glow of that which springs from the energy of the moment.\n\nThere are some persons, however, who would be embarrassed by an effort\nto change the operation of the mind from reading to inventing. Such\npersons may find it best to make their beginning with a whole discourse.\n\n4. In this case, there will be a great advantage in selecting for first\nefforts expository subjects. To say nothing of the importance and\nutility of this mode of preaching, which render it desirable that every\nminister should devote a considerable proportion of his labors to it; it\ncontains great facilities and reliefs for the inexperienced speaker. The\nclose study of a passage of scripture which is necessary to expounding\nit, renders it familiar. The exposition is inseparably connected with\nthe text, and necessarily suggested by it. The inferences and practical\nreflections are in like manner naturally and indissolubly associated\nwith the passage. The train of remark is easily preserved, and\nembarrassment in a great measure guarded against, by the circumstance\nthat the order of discourse is spread out in the open Bible, upon which\nthe eyes may rest and by which the thoughts may rally.\n\n5. A similar advantage is gained to the beginner, in discourses of a\ndifferent character, by a very careful and minute division of the\nsubject. The division should not only be logical and clear, but into\nparts as numerous as possible. The great advantage here is, that the\npartitions being many, the speaker is compelled frequently to return to\nhis minutes. He is thus kept in the track, and prevented from wandering\nfar in needless digressions--that besetting infirmity of unrestrained\nextemporizers. He also escapes the mortifying consequences of a\nmomentary confusion and cloudiness of mind, by having it in his power to\nleave an unsatisfactory train at once, before the state of his mind is\nperceived by the audience, and take up the next topic, where he may\nrecover his self-possession, and proceed without impediment. This is no\nunimportant consideration. It relieves him from the horror of feeling\nobliged to go on, while conscious that he is saying nothing to the\npurpose; and at the same time secures the very essential requisite of\nright method.\n\n6. The next rule is, that the whole subject, with the order and\nconnexion of all its parts, and the entire train of thought, be made\nthoroughly familiar by previous meditation. The speaker must have the\ndiscourse in his mind as one whole, whose various parts are distinctly\nperceived as other wholes, connected with each other and contributing to\na common end. There must be no uncertainty, when he rises to speak, as\nto what he is going to say; no mist or darkness over the land he is\nabout to travel; but conscious of his acquaintance with the ground, he\nmust step forward confidently, not doubting that he shall find the\npasses of its mountains, and thread the intricacies of its forests, by\nthe paths which he has already trodden. It is an imperfect and partial\npreparation in this respect, which so often renders the manner awkward\nand embarrassed, and the discourse obscure and perplexed.[11] But when\nthe preparation is faithful, the speaker feels at home; being under no\nanxiety respecting the ideas or the order of their succession, he has\nthe more ready control of his person, his eye, and his hand, and the\nmore fearlessly gives up his mind to its own action and casts himself\nupon the current. Uneasiness and constraint are the inevitable\nattendants of unfaithful preparation, and they are fatal to success. It\nis true, that no man can attain the power of self-possession so as to\nfeel at all times equally and entirely at ease. But he may guard against\nthe sorest ills which attend its loss, by always making sure of a train\nof thought,--being secure that he has ideas, and that they lie in such\norder as to be found and brought forward in some sort of apparel, even\nwhen he has in some measure lost the mastery of himself. The richness or\nmeanness of their dress will depend on the humor of the moment. It will\nvary as much as health and spirits vary, which is more in some men than\nin others. But the thoughts themselves he may produce, and be certain of\nsaying _what_ he intended to say, even when he cannot say it _as_ he\nintended. It must often have been observed, by those who are at all in\nthe habit of observation of this kind, that the mind operates in this\nparticular like a machine, which, having been wound up, runs on by its\nown spontaneous action, until it has gone through its appointed course.\nMany men have thus continued speaking in the midst of an embarrassment\nof mind which rendered them almost unconscious of what they were saying,\nand incapable of giving an account of it afterward; while yet the\nunguided, self-moving intellect wrought so well, that the speech was not\nesteemed unwholesome or defective by the hearers. The experience of this\nfact has doubtless helped many to believe that they spoke from\ninspiration. It ought to teach all, that there is no sufficient cause\nfor that excessive apprehension, which so often unmans them, and which,\nthough it may not stop their mouths, must deprive their address of all\ngrace and beauty, of all ease and force.\n\n    [11] Nemo potest de ea re, quam non novit, non turpissime\n         dicere. Cic. de Or.\n\n7. We may introduce in this place another rule, the observance of which\nwill aid in preventing the ill consequences resulting from the\naccidental loss of self-possession. The rule is, utter yourself very\nslowly and deliberately, with careful pauses. This is at all times a\ngreat aid to a clear and perspicuous statement. It is essential to the\nspeaker, who would keep the command of himself and consequently of his\nhearers.\n\nOne is very likely, when, in the course of speaking, he has stumbled on\nan unfortunate expression, or said what he would prefer not to say, or\nfor a moment lost sight of the precise point at which he was aiming, to\nhurry on with increasing rapidity, as if to get as far as possible from\nhis misfortune, or cause it to be forgotten in the crowd of new words.\nBut instead of thus escaping the evil, he increases it; he entangles\nhimself more and more; and augments the difficulty of recovering his\nroute. The true mode of recovering himself is by increased deliberation.\nHe must pause, and give himself time to think;--\"ut tamen deliberare non\nhaesitare videatur.\" He need not be alarmed lest his hearers suspect the\ndifficulty. Most of them are likely to attribute the slowness of his\nstep to any cause rather than the true one. They take it for granted,\nthat he says and does precisely as he intended and wished. They suppose\nthat he is pausing to gather up his strength. It excites their\nattention. The change of manner is a relief to them. And the probability\nis, that the speaker not only recovers himself, but that the effort to\ndo it gives a spring to the action of his powers, which enables him to\nproceed afterward with greater energy.\n\n8. In regard to language, the best rule is, that no preparation be made.\nThere is no convenient and profitable medium between speaking from\nmemory and from immediate suggestion. To mix the two is no aid, but a\ngreat hindrance, because it perplexes the mind between the very\ndifferent operations of memory and invention. To prepare sentences and\nparts of sentences, which are to be introduced here and there, and the\nintervals between them to be filled up in the delivery, is the surest of\nall ways to produce constraint. It is like the embarrassment of framing\nverses to prescribed rhymes; as vexatious, and as absurd. To be\ncompelled to shape the course of remark so as to suit a sentence which\nis by and by to come, or to introduce certain expressions which are\nwaiting for their place, is a check to the natural current of thought.\nThe inevitable consequence is constraint and labor, the loss of every\nthing like easy and flowing utterance, and perhaps that worst of\nconfusion which results from a jumble of ill assorted, disjointed\nperiods. It is unavoidable that the subject should present itself in a\nlittle different form and complexion in speaking, from that which it\ntook in meditation; so that the sentences and modes of expression, which\nagreed very well with the train of remark as it came up in the study,\nmay be wholly unsuited to that which it assumes in the pronunciation.\n\nThe extemporaneous speaker should therefore trust himself to the moment\nfor all his language. This is the safe way for his comfort, and the only\nsure way to make all of a uniform piece. The general rule is certain,\nthough there may be some exceptions. It may be well for example, to\nconsider what synonymous terms may be employed in recurring to the chief\ntopic, in order to avoid the too frequent reiteration of the same word.\nThis will occasion no embarrassment. He may also prepare texts of\nscripture to be introduced in certain parts of the discourse. These, if\nperfectly committed to memory, and he be not too anxious to make a place\nfor them, will be no encumbrance. When a suitable juncture occurs, they\nwill suggest themselves, just as a suitable epithet suggests itself. But\nif he be very solicitous about them, and continually on the watch for an\nopportunity to introduce them, he will be likely to confuse himself. And\nit is better to lose the choicest quotation, than suffer constraint and\nawkwardness from the effort to bring it in. Under the same restrictions\nhe may have ready, pithy remarks, striking and laconic expressions,\npointed sayings and aphorisms, the force of which depends on the precise\nform of the phrase. Let the same rule be observed in regard to such. If\nthey suggest themselves (which they will do, if there be a proper place\nfor them), let them be welcome. But never let him run the risk of\nspoiling a whole paragraph in trying to make a place for them.\n\nMany distinguished speakers are said to do more than this,--to write out\nwith care and repeat from memory their more important and persuasive\nparts; like the _de bene esse's_ of Curran, and the splendid passages of\nmany others. This may undoubtedly be done to advantage by one who has\nthe command of himself which practice gives, and has learned to pass\nfrom memory to invention without tripping. It is a different case from\nthat mixture of the two operations, which is condemned above, and is in\nfact only an extended example of the exceptions made in the last\nparagraph. With these exceptions, when he undertakes, _bona fide_, an\nextemporaneous address, he should make no preparation of language.\nLanguage is the last thing he should be anxious about. If he have ideas,\nand be awake, it will come of itself, unbidden and unsought for. The\nbest language flashes upon the speaker as unexpectedly as upon the\nhearer. It is the spontaneous gift of the mind, not the extorted boon of\na special search. No man who has thoughts, and is interested in them, is\nat a loss for words--not the most uneducated man; and the words he uses\nwill be according to his education and general habits, not according to\nthe labour of the moment. If he truly feel, and wish to communicate his\nfeelings to those around him, the last thing that will fail will be\nlanguage; the less he thinks of it and cares for it, the more copiously\nand richly will it flow from him; and when he has forgotten every thing\nbut his desire to give vent to his emotions and do good, then will the\nunconscious torrent pour, as it does at no other season. This entire\nsurrender to the spirit which stirs within, is indeed the real secret of\nall eloquence. \"True eloquence,\" says Milton, \"I find to be none but the\nserious and hearty love of truth; and that whose mind soever is fully\npossessed with a fervent desire to know good things, and with the\ndearest charity to infuse the knowledge of them into others,--when such\na man would speak, his words, like so many nimble and airy servitors,\ntrip about him at command and in well ordered files, as he would wish,\nfall aptly into their own places.\" Rerum enim copia (says the great\nRoman teacher and example) verborum copiam gignit; et, si est honestas\nin rebus ipsis de quibus dicitur, existit ex rei natura quidam splendor\nin verbis. Sit modo is, qui dicet aut scribet, institutus liberaliter\neducatione doctrinaque puerili, et flagret studio, et a natura\nadjuvetur, et in universorum generum infinitis disceptationibus\nexercitatus; ornatissimos scriptores oratoresque ad cognoscendum\nimitandumque legerit;--nae ille haud sane, quemadmodum verba struat et\nilluminet, a magistris istis requiret. Ita facile in rerum abundantia ad\norationis ornamenta, sine duce, natura ipsa, si modo est exercitata,\nlabetur.[12]\n\n    [12] De Or. iii. 31.\n\n9. These remarks lead to another suggestion which deserves the student's\nconsideration. He should select for this exercise those subjects in\nwhich he feels an interest at the time, and in regard to which he\ndesires to engage the interest of others. In order to the best success,\nextemporaneous efforts should be made in an excited state, when the mind\nis burning and glowing, and longs to find vent. There are some topics\nwhich do not admit of this excitement. Such should be treated by the\npen. When he would speak, he should choose topics on which his own mind\nis kindling with a feeling which he is earnest to communicate; and the\nhigher the degree to which he has elevated his feelings, the more\nreadily, happily, and powerfully will he pour forth whatever the\noccasion may demand. There is no style suited to the pulpit, which he\nwill not more effectually command in this state of mind. He will reason\nmore directly, pointedly, and convincingly; he will describe more\nvividly from the living conceptions of the moment; he will be more\nearnest in persuasion, more animated in declamation, more urgent in\nappeals, more terrible in denunciation. Every thing will vanish from\nbefore him, but the subject of his attention, and upon this his powers\nwill be concentrated in keen and vigorous action.\n\nIf a man would do his best, it must be upon topics which are at the\nmoment interesting to him. We see it in conversation, where every one is\neloquent upon his favorite subjects. We see it in deliberative\nassemblies; where it is those grand questions, which excite an intense\ninterest, and absorb and agitate the mind, that call forth those bursts\nof eloquence by which men are remembered as powerful orators, and that\ngive a voice to men who can speak on no other occasions. Cicero tells us\nof himself, that the instances in which he was most successful, were\nthose in which he most entirely abandoned himself to the impulses of\nfeeling. Every speaker's experience will bear testimony to the same\nthing; and thus the saying of Goldsmith proves true, that, \"to feel\none's subject thoroughly, and to speak without fear, are the only rules\nof eloquence.\" Let him who would preach successfully, remember this. In\nthe choice of subjects for extemporaneous efforts, let him have regard\nto it, and never encumber himself nor distress his hearers, with the\nattempt to interest them in a subject, which excites at the moment only\na feeble interest in his own mind.\n\nThis rule excludes many topics, which it is necessary to introduce into\nthe pulpit, subjects in themselves interesting and important, but which\nfew men can be trusted to treat in unpremeditated language; because they\nrequire an exactness of definition, and nice discrimination of phrase,\nwhich may be better commanded in the cool leisure of writing, than in\nthe prompt and declamatory style of the speaker. The rule also forbids\nthe attempt to speak when ill health, or lowness of spirits, or any\naccidental cause, renders him incapable of that excitement which is\nrequisite to success. It requires of him to watch over the state of his\nbody--the partial derangement of whose functions so often confuses the\nmind--that, by preserving a vigorous and animated condition of the\ncorporeal system, he may secure vigour and vivacity of mind. It requires\nof him, finally, whenever he is about entering upon the work, to use\nevery means, by careful meditation, by calling up the strong motives of\nhis office, by realizing the nature and responsibility of his\nundertaking, and by earnestly invoking the blessing of God--to attain\nthat frame of devout engagedness, which will dispose him to speak\nzealously and fearlessly.\n\n10. Another important item in the discipline to be passed through,\nconsists in attaining the habit of self-command. I have already adverted\nto this point, and noticed the power which the mind possesses of\ncarrying on the premeditated operation, even while the speaker is\nconsiderably embarrassed. This is, however, only a reason for not being\ntoo much distressed by the feeling when only occasional; it does not\nimply that it is no evil. It is a most serious evil; of little\ncomparative moment, it may be, when only occasional and transitory, but\nhighly injurious if habitual. It renders the speaker unhappy, and his\naddress ineffective. If perfectly at ease, he would have every thing at\ncommand, and be able to pour out his thoughts in lucid order, and with\nevery desirable variety of manner and expression. But when thrown from\nhis self-possession, he can do nothing better than mechanically string\ntogether words, while there is no soul in them, because his mental\npowers are spell-bound and imbecile. He stammers, hesitates, and\nstumbles; or, at best, talks on without object or aim, as mechanically\nand unconsciously as an automaton. He has learned little effectually,\ntill he has learned to be collected.\n\nThis therefore must be a leading object of attention. It will not be\nattained by men of delicacy and sensibility, except by long and trying\npractice. It will be the result of much rough attrition with the world,\nand many mortifying failures. And after all, occasions may occur, when\nthe most experienced will be put off their guard. Still, however, much\nmay be done by the control which a vigorous mind has over itself, by\nresolute and persevering determination, by refusing to shrink or give\nway, and by preferring always the mortification of ill success, to the\nincreased weakness which would grow out of retreating.\n\nThere are many considerations, also, which if kept before the mind would\noperate not a little to strengthen its confidence in itself. Let the\nspeaker be sensible that, if self-possessed, he is not likely to fail;\nthat after faithful study and preparation, there is nothing to stand in\nhis way, but his own want of self-command. Let him heat his mind with\nhis subject, endeavour to feel nothing, and care for nothing, but that.\nLet him consider, that his audience takes for granted that he says\nnothing but what he designed, and does not notice those slight errors\nwhich annoy and mortify him; that in truth such errors are of no moment;\nthat he is not speaking for reputation and display, nor for the\ngratification of others, by the exhibition of a rhetorical model, or for\nthe satisfaction of a cultivated taste: but that he is a teacher of\nvirtue, a messenger of Jesus Christ, a speaker in the name of God; whose\nchosen object it is to lead men above all secondary considerations and\nworldly attainments, and to create in them a fixed and lasting interest\nin spiritual and religious concerns;--that he himself therefore ought to\nregard other things as of comparatively little consequence while he\nexecutes this high function; that the true way to effect the object of\nhis ministry, is to be filled with that object, and to be conscious of\nno other desire but to promote it. Let him, in a word, be zealous to do\ngood, to promote religion, to save souls, and little anxious to make\nwhat might be called a fine sermon--let him learn to sink every thing in\nhis subject and the purpose it should accomplish--ambitious rather to do\ngood, than to do well;--and he will be in a great measure secure from\nthe loss of self-command and its attendant distress. Not always--for\nthis feeble vessel of the mind seems to be sometimes tost to and fro, as\nit were, upon the waves of circumstances, unmanageable by the helm and\ndisobedient to the wind. Sometimes God seems designedly to show us our\nweakness, by taking from us the control of our powers, and causing us to\nbe drifted along whither we would not. But under all ordinary\noccurrences, habitual piety and ministerial zeal will be an ample\nsecurity. From the abundance of the heart the mouth will speak. The most\ndiffident man in the society of men is known to converse freely and\nfearlessly when his heart is full, and his passions engaged; and no man\nis at a loss for words, or confounded by another's presence, who thinks\nneither of the language, nor the company, but only of the matter which\nfills him. Let the preacher consider this, and be persuaded of it,--and\nit will do much to relieve him from the distress which attends the loss\nof self-possession, which distorts every feature with agony, and distils\nin sweat from his forehead. It will do much to destroy that incubus,\nwhich sits upon every faculty of the soul, and palsies every power, and\nfastens down the helpless sufferer to the very evil from which he\nstrives to flee.\n\nAfter all, therefore, which can be said, the great essential requisite\nto effective preaching in this method (or indeed in any method) is a\ndevoted heart. A strong religious sentiment, leading to a fervent zeal\nfor the good of other men, is better than all rules of art; it will give\nhim courage, which no science or practice could impart, and open his\nlips boldly, when the fear of man would keep them closed. Art may fail\nhim, and all his treasures of knowledge desert him; but if his heart be\nwarm with love, he will \"speak right on,\" aiming at the heart, and\nreaching the heart, and satisfied to accomplish the great purpose,\nwhether he be thought to do it tastefully or not.\n\nThis is the true spirit of his office, to be cherished and cultivated\nabove all things else, and capable of rendering all its labors\ncomparatively easy. It reminds him that his purpose is not to make\nprofound discussions of theological doctrines, or disquisitions on moral\nand metaphysical science; but to present such views of the great and\nacknowledged truths of revelation, with such applications of them to the\nunderstanding and conscience, as may affect and reform his hearers. Now\nit is not study only, in divinity or in rhetoric, which will enable him\nto do this. He may reason ingeniously, but not convincingly; he may\ndeclaim eloquently, but not persuasively. There is an immense, though\nindescribable difference between the same arguments and truths, as\npresented by him who earnestly feels and desires to persuade, and by him\nwho designs only a display of intellectual strength, or an exercise of\nrhetorical skill. In the latter case, the declamation may be splendid,\nbut it will be cold and without expression; lulling the ear, and\ndiverting the fancy, but leaving the feelings untouched. In the other,\nthere is an air of reality and sincerity, which words cannot describe,\nbut which the heart feels, that finds its way to the recesses of the\nsoul, and overcomes it by a powerful sympathy. This is a difference\nwhich all perceive and all can account for. The truths of religion are\nnot matters of philosophical speculation, but of experience. The heart\nand all the spiritual man, and all the interests and feelings of the\nimmortal being, have an intimate concern in them. It is perceived at\nonce whether they are stated by one who has felt them himself, is\npersonally acquainted with their power, is subject to their influence,\nand speaks from actual experience; or whether they come from one who\nknows them only in speculation, has gathered them from books, and\nthought them out by his own reason, but without any sense of their\nspiritual operation.\n\nBut who does not know how much easier it is to declare what has come to\nour knowledge from our own experience, than what we have gathered coldly\nat second hand from that of others;--how much easier it is to describe\nfeelings we have ourselves had, and pleasures we have ourselves enjoyed,\nthan to fashion a description of what others have told us;--how much\nmore freely and convincingly we can speak of happiness we have known,\nthan of that to which we are strangers. We see, then, how much is lost\nto the speaker by coldness or ignorance in the exercises of personal\nreligion. How can he effectually represent the joys of a religious mind,\nwho has never known what it is to feel them? How can he effectually aid\nthe contrite, the desponding, the distrustful, the tempted, who has\nnever himself passed through the same fears and sorrows? or how can he\npaint, in the warm colors of truth, religious exercises and spiritual\ndesires, who is personally a stranger to them? Alas, he cannot at all\ncome in contact with those souls, which stand most in need of his\nsympathy and aid. But if he have cherished in himself, fondly and\nhabitually, the affections he would excite in others, if he have\ncombated temptation, and practised self-denial, and been instant in\nprayer, and tasted the joy and peace of a tried faith and hope;--then he\nmay communicate directly with the hearts of his fellow men, and win them\nover to that which he so feelingly describes. If his spirit be always\nwarm and stirring with these pure and kind emotions, and anxious to\nimpart the means of his own felicity to others--how easily and freely\nwill he pour himself forth! and how little will he think of the\nembarrassments of the presence of mortal man, while he is conscious only\nof laboring for the glory of the ever present God.\n\nThis then is the one thing essential to be attained and cherished by the\nChristian preacher. With this he must begin, and with this he must go on\nto the end. Then he never can greatly fail; for he will FEEL HIS SUBJECT\nTHOROUGHLY, AND SPEAK WITHOUT FEAR.","title":"Hints on extemporaneous preaching","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":18898}