(3) Elements of a Pure Civilization. The school goes with the mission, the garden and field with the school. Sermons there are,
but not to the neglect of school work. School-hours there are, but not to the neglect of soil cultivation. Practical education is paramount. The seeds, the trees, the plants, which are fitted for the climate, are planted and tended, and the natives are asked to come and work by the side of the missionary and to learn the art of turning the earth to account. Thus a primitive Industrial School is started in every mission, and the laws of thrift and self-dependence go hand in hand with those of morality and spirituality. As things have gone, it is surely a novel, and perhaps a hard, life for a missionary, but in that it is an effective means of conversion and enlightenment, the sacrifice does not seem too great. After all, does it not entirely meet the objections of those who so vehemently urge that the only way to make missionary work successful among African natives is to wait until commerce has reconciled them to contact with the outer world?
(4) Not Confined to the Ordinary Ministry. It opens the field of missionary endeavor to earnest, moral men of every occupation. Teachers, artisans, laborers in every branch of industry, become invaluable servants of the Lord, under this system. Children as well as parents may share the honors of introducing Christ in this practical way, the key to which is example. What so inspiring as the confidence of equality and co-labor! To be like a teacher in what appertains to material welfare, is father to a wish to be like him or her in what appertains to spiritual welfare.
(5) Coast-Line Missions. These are practicable and necessary at first. But they are only evangelical bases for the more numerous and grander structures soon to be erected within the continent.
In support of his system the Bishop brings to bear an experience wider than that of any living missionary, to which must be added a special study of the African natives and the entire African situation.
He says that the untutored heathen of Africa have no vain philosophy by which to explain away their perception of God as a great personal being. They have their “greegrees,” “charms” and “armulets,” but they never pray to them, they cry to God in the day of trouble. In the extreme south God’s name is “Dahlah,” “Tixo” and “Enkosi.” In south central Africa His name is “En Zambe.”
The Zambesi river is called after God. On the west coast his name is “Niswah.” All these words express clear perceptions of one great God of heaven and earth.
He further relates that one day he was preaching to King Damassi of the Ama Pondo nation, about the resurrection. One of the king’s counsellors expressed dissent from the Bishop’s doctrine. The king, a giant in physique, frowned at him and said: “Hold your tongue you scoundrel! You know well our fathers believed in the resurrection of the dead, and so do we.”
When a Kaffirman dies they dig a grave about two feet wide and five deep and let the corpse down in a squatting position. But before it is lowered they seat him beside the grave, to allow anyone who wishes to talk with it. This is consequence of their belief that though the spirit has left the body it still lingers near for a last communication with friend or foe. If any present has an unadjusted quarrel with the hovering spirit, he approaches and makes his peace, and then begs that the shade will not return to bewitch his children or cattle. Others come and send messages of peace to their fathers by means of the departing spirit, and still others send word very much as if the departure of a spirit were a sure means of communication between this and the final home of good people. When analyzed, their belief is supreme that the body returns to dust at death, but that the spirit is immortal; that the spirit retains all its faculties and forces, and has independent senses corresponding with the bodily senses; that good spirits dwell with God in happiness and that those who follow will commune with them. These things they have never learned from books, nor teachers. They are intuitions.
In February, 1888, Bishop Taylor visited a dead chief, near Tataka on the Cavalla river. He had been a prominent man, a giant in size, and had given leave to found a mission in his tribe. But he knew no language but his own and had never heard the Gospel preached. He was found sleeping tranquilly in death, and inquiry revealed the fact that he had talked all through the night of his death with “Niswah”—God—and had called on Him repeatedly—“Niswah I am your man!” “Niswah, I trust you!”