Chapter Six.
A Discussion.
It was about a month after the harvest-home, so full of sad memories for all at the hall and rectory, that Mr Oliphant was seated one afternoon in the drawing-room of Greymoor Park. The company assembled consisted of the baronet and Lady Oldfield; the baronet’s brother, Reverend John Oldfield; Dr Portman, the medical man; and Bernard Oliphant.
Mr John Oldfield had been telling the news of his part of the county to his brother and sister-in-law.
“You’ll be sorry to hear,” he continued, “that poor Mildman’s dead.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the rector. “I’m very sorry. Was there any change in him before his death?”
“No, I fear not. His has been a very sad case. I remember him well when he was vicar of Sapton. A brighter and more loving Christian and pastor I never knew, but somehow or other he got into drinking habits, and these have been his ruin.”
“Poor man,” said Sir Thomas, “he used to be the laughing-stock of old Bellowen, his squire; it was very grievous to see a man throw himself away as he did. The squire would ply him with drink, and press the bottle upon him, till poor Mildman was so tipsy that he had to be taken by the servants to the vicarage. Sometimes the butler had to put him into a cart, when it was dark, and had him tumbled out like so much rubbish at his own door.”
“Really,” said Lady Oldfield, “I was surprised to hear Mr Bellowen talk about him in the way he did. He endeavoured in every possible way to get him to drink, while at the very same time he despised and abused him for drinking, and would launch out at the clergy and their self-indulgent habits.”
“Yes,” said her brother-in-law; “no one knew better what a clergyman ought to be than the squire. We may be very thankful that his charges against our order were gross exaggerations. We may congratulate ourselves that the old-fashioned drunken parson is now pretty nearly a creature of the past. Don’t you think so, Mr Oliphant?”
“I confess to you,” replied the rector, “that I was rather thinking, in connection with poor Mildman’s sad history, of those words, ‘Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.’”
“Why, surely you don’t think there is much danger in these days of many persons of our profession becoming the victims of intemperance?”
“I cannot feel so sure about that,” was the reply. “You know I hold strong views on the subject. I wish I could see more clergymen total abstainers.”
“I must say that I quite disagree with you there,” said the other; “what we want, in my view, is, not to make people total abstainers, but to give them those principles which will enable them to enjoy all lawful indulgences lawfully.”
“I should heartily concur in this view,” said Mr Oliphant, “if the indulgence in strong drink to what people consider a moderate extent were exactly on the same footing as indulgence in other things. But there is something so perilous in the very nature of alcoholic stimulants, that multitudes are lured by them to excess who would have been the last to think, on commencing to drink, that themselves could possibly become transgressors.”
“Then it is the duty of us clergymen,” said the other, “to warn people to be more on their guard against excess in this direction but not, by becoming total abstainers ourselves, to lead our flocks to suppose that there is sin in the mere taking of any amount of intoxicating liquors, however small.”
“I think,” said Mr Oliphant, very gravely, “that our duty is something beyond, and, may I say, above this. We live in a peculiarly self-indulgent age, when men are exceedingly impatient of anything like a restraint upon their appetites and inclinations. We have, besides this, the acknowledged fact that, where other sins slay their thousands, drunkenness slays its hundreds of thousands of all ages. Is it not, then, a privilege, (I always prefer to put it rather as a privilege than a duty), for us, who are to be as lights in the world, as ensamples to our flocks, to take a high stand in this matter, and show that we will deny ourselves that which has so insidiously worked the ruin of millions, that so we may perhaps win poor fallen creatures, fallen through drink, to come out of their miserable slough by crying to them, not merely ‘Come out,’ but ‘Come out and follow us!’”
Mr Oldfield did not answer; but Sir Thomas, turning to the rector, said,—
“I am sure this subject is deeply interesting to both you and myself, on our dear Frank’s account. You know my views on the subject of total abstinence. Still I feel that there may be exceptional cases, where its adoption may be wise, and I could imagine that his might be such a case.”
“I heartily agree with you,” replied Mr Oliphant.
“Oh no, my dear,” exclaimed Lady Oldfield; “I am quite sure total abstinence would never suit poor Frank; his constitution would not bear it; I appeal to you, Dr Portman, is it not so?”
“I am quite of your ladyship’s opinion,” said the doctor.
“You hear what Dr Portman says,” cried her ladyship, turning to the rector.
“I do,” was the reply; “but that does not alter my conviction. Medical men’s views have greatly changed of late years on this subject. Excuse me, Dr Portman, for thus differing from you.”
“Really,” interposed Mr Oldfield, “I think you must allow the doctor to be the best judge of the medical side of the question. What would you say if the doctor on his part were to intrude on your province, and question your statements of scriptural truth from the pulpit?”
“I should say,” answered Mr Oliphant, “in the first place, that the two cases are essentially different. My statements are drawn from an inspired volume, from an express revelation; the opinions of medical men are simply the deductions of human reason and observation, and are therefore opinions which may be altered or modified. But, further, I should say that I never require my people to receive my statements from the pulpit without question or inquiry. I refer them always to the revelation, the inspired record, and bid them search that record for themselves. Now, if the doctor can point me to any inspired medical record which lays down a particular system, and declares directly or by fair inference against total abstinence, I will at once surrender my present position; but as he will not pretend to possess any such inspired medical volume, I must still feel myself at liberty to hold different views from himself on the medical question.”
“I am well aware, my dear sir,” said Dr Portman, “that you and I shall not agree on this subject, and, of course, I must allow you to be at liberty to hold your own opinions; but it does seem to me, I must confess, very strange that you should look upon total abstinence as universally or generally desirable, when you must be aware that these views are held by so very few of the medical profession, and have only recently been adopted even by those few.”
“I am afraid,” said the rector, smiling, “that you are only entangling yourself in further difficulties. Does the recent adoption of a new course of treatment by a few prove that it ought not to be generally adopted? What, then, do you say about the change in the treatment of fever cases? I can myself remember the time when the patient was treated on the lowering system, and when every breath of air was excluded from the sick-room, doors and windows being listed lest the slightest change should take place in the stifling atmosphere of the bed-room. And now all is altered; we have the system supported by nourishments, and abundance of fresh air let in. Indeed, it is most amusing to see the change which has taken place as regards fresh air; many of us sleep with our windows open, which would have been thought certain death a few years ago. I know at this time a medical practitioner, (who, by the way, is a total abstainer, and has never given any of his patients alcoholic stimulants for the last five-and-twenty years), who, at the age of between seventy and eighty, sleeps with his window open, and is so hearty that, writing to me a few days since, he says, ‘I sometimes think what shall I do when I get to be an old man, being now only in my seventy-fourth year.’ Now, were the medical men wrong who began this change in the treatment of fever cases? or, because they were few at first, ought they to have abandoned their views, and still kept with the majority? Of course, those who adopt any great change will at first be few, especially if that change sets very strongly against persons’ tastes or prejudices.”
“I see that we must agree to differ,” said Dr Portman, laughing, and rising to take his leave.
When he was gone, Sir Thomas, who had listened very attentively to Mr Oliphant’s remarks, said,—
“I shall certainly put no hindrance in the way of Frank’s becoming a total abstainer if you can persuade him to it, and his health does not suffer by it.”
“Nor I,” said Lady Oldfield; “only don’t let him sign any pledge. I’ve a great horror of those pledges. Surely, my dear Mr Oliphant, you would not advise his signing a pledge.”
“Indeed, I should advise it most strongly,” was the reply; “both for his own sake and also for the sake of others.”
“But surely, to sign a pledge is to put things on a totally wrong foundation,” observed Mr John Oldfield; “would not you, as a minister of the gospel, prefer that he should base his total abstinence on Christian principle rather than trust to a pledge? Does not the pledge usurp the place of divine grace?”
“Not at all,” said the rector. “I would have him abstain on Christian principles, as you say; and I would not have him trust to the pledge, but I would still have him use it as a support, though not as a foundation. Perhaps an illustration will best explain my meaning. I read some years ago of a fowler who was straying on the shore after sea-birds. He was so engrossed with his sport that he utterly failed to mark the rapid incoming of the tide, and when at last he did notice it, he found to his dismay that he was completely cut off from the land. There was but one chance of life, for he could not swim. A large fragment of rock rose above the waves a few yards behind him; on to this he clambered, and placing his gun between his feet, awaited the rising of the water. In a short time the waves had risen nearly to his feet, then they covered them; and still they rose as the tide came in higher and higher, now round his ankles, next to his knees; and so they kept gradually mounting, covering his body higher and higher. He could mark their rise or fall by the brass buttons on his waistcoat; first one button disappeared, then another, then a third, then a fourth. Would the waves rise up to his mouth and choke him? His suspense was dreadful. At last he observed that the topmost button did not disappear so rapidly as the rest; the next wave, however, seemed quite to cover it, but in a few minutes it became quite uncovered; in a little while the button next below became visible, and now he was sure that the tide was ebbing, and that he was safe if only he could hold out long enough. At last the rock itself became visible, and after many hours he was able, almost spent with fatigue, to stagger to the land. Now, what saved that man? was it his gun? Surely not; it was the rock: that was his standing-ground. But was his gun, therefore, useless? Assuredly not, for it helped to steady him on the rock, though it could not take the place of the rock. Just so with the pledge; it is not the Christian abstainer’s standing-ground. Christ alone is that standing-ground. He stands by the grace of Christ; but the pledge, like the gun, helps to keep him steady on his standing-ground, the Rock of Ages.”
“Well,” said Mr Oldfield, “let us grant that there is some force in your illustration. I would further ask how it can be that Frank’s taking the pledge would be a benefit to others as well as himself?”
“For the same reason that my own signing of the pledge is beneficial,” replied the rector.
“Nay,” interposed Sir Thomas; “would not your signing the pledge do rather harm than good? Would it not rather weaken your own influence by giving people reason to think, (those I mean especially who might not know you well), that you had once been intemperate yourself, or that you were unable to keep sober, or at any rate moderate, without the help of the pledge.”
“On the contrary,” replied Mr Oliphant, “I look upon those who take the pledge as greatly encouraging others who might be inclined to hang back. It shows that the stronger are willing to fraternise with the weaker. And this is specially the case when those who are known to have never been entangled in the snares of drunkenness are willing to take the pledge as an encouragement to those who have fallen. Perhaps you will bear with me if I offer you another illustration. There is a great chasm, a raging torrent at the bottom, and a single strong plank across it. Now persons with steady heads can walk over the chasm without difficulty, along the naked plank; but there are others who shudder at the very thought, and dare not venture—their heads swim, their knees tremble, as they approach the edge. What is to be done? Why, just put a little light hand-rail from a post on either side, and let one who is strong of head walk over, resting his hand on the rail; he does not need the rail for himself but he uses it just to show how it may be a help, and so the timid and the dizzy-headed follow and feel confidence, and reach the other side in safety. Now, suppose the flood at the bottom of that chasm to be intemperance, the plank total abstinence, and the rail the pledge, and I think you will see that those who use the pledge, though they really do not need it to steady themselves, may be a great help to the weak, the timid, and the shrinking.”
“I certainly,” said Sir Thomas, “have never had the matter set before me in this light. I shall think over our conversation; and as regards poor Frank, at any rate, I feel sure that, if his health will bear it, total abstinence will be the safest, if not the best thing for him.”