Of the writings of Knox we have spoken incidentally in the course of our narrative, and need not therefore enter now into any minute criticism of their character and merits. They were struck out of him almost extemporaneously by emergencies that arose, and, like all similar productions, they were mainly ephemeral in their nature, so that they are studied now, for the most part, only by those who wish to gain some insight into the man, his times, and his work. He was not what might properly be called literary. He would not have described himself as another of his countrymen did, as "a writer of books." On the contrary, in the preface to the only sermon which he published, he affirmed that "he considered himself rather called of God to instruct the ignorant, comfort the sorrowful, confirm the weak, and rebuke the proud by tongue and living voice in these most corrupt times, than to compose books for the age to come; seeing that so much is written (and that by men of most singular condition) and yet so little well observed, he decreed to contain himself within the bounds of that vocation whereunto he felt himself specially called." An exception to this may perhaps be found in his "History of the Reformation in Scotland," to which throughout we have been so much indebted, and which is one of the raciest, clearest, and most trustworthy records of the heroic struggle in which he was virtually the leader of the victorious side. It has been stigmatized by Burton as egotistical; but Carlyle more justly notices how on one occasion, when his personal merit far excelled all possible description, "he hardly names himself at all"; and where he could not be truthful without speaking of himself, he invariably does so in the third person, and without any attempt to glorify the work of which he might have said, "cujus pars magna fui." For the rest, as Carlyle says, "His account of every event he was present in is that of a well-discerning eye-witness. Things he did not himself see, but had reasonable cause and abundant means to inquire into—battles even, and sieges—are described with something of a Homeric vigour and simplicity." It is unfortunate for modern readers that it is written in the old Scottish dialect; but if some competent scholar would only honestly modernize and faithfully edit it, a great boon would be conferred upon the present generation, for it has in it many elements of popular interest.
His special vocation was that of the preacher rather than of the author. The pulpit was the throne of his peculiar and pre-eminent power. Other men might equal or surpass him elsewhere, but there he was supreme. Different excellences might come out in himself on different occasions; but in the pulpit all his abilities were conspicuous, and there they were always at their best. It was the glass which focussed all his powers into a point, and quickened their exercise into a burning intensity which kindled everything it touched. It brightened his intellect, enlivened his imagination, clarified his judgment, inflamed his courage, and gave fiery energy to his utterance. He was never elsewhere so great in any one of these particulars, as he was, when in the pulpit, in them all; for there, over and above the "præfervidum ingenium" which he had in common with so many of his countrymen, and the glow of animation which fills the soul of the orator when he looks upon an audience, he had the feeling that he was called of God to be faithful, and that made him almost like another Paul. Behind him was the cross of his Lord; before him was the throne at which he was to be accountable, and between these two he stood "watching for souls as one that must give account." He began his discourse most commonly with Biblical exposition, and spent a little time in calmly, clearly, and fully explaining the meaning of the passage on which he was engaged. In this portion of his sermon, if we may judge from the published tracts which were apparently founded on pulpit utterances, he was clear, simple, convincing; not making a parade of learning, yet bringing out withal the true significance of the sacred text. Then having cleared away all doubt from that, he made it the foundation of a battery, whereon he erected a swivel gun, and with that he swept the whole horizon, firing at every evil which came within his view. Nor were the shots mere random things. They were deliberately aimed, and they commonly did most effective work. No matter who might be the evil-doer, the exposure was sure to be made, and the expostulation, usually ending in denunciation, unless the sinner should repent, was sure to follow. Whatever he might do elsewhere, he could neither shut his eyes nor keep back his utterance when he was, as he called it, "in public place." He was "set as a watchman" to the people of Scotland, and he would watch with wakeful vigilance, and give honest warning of everything which he saw wrong; for the wrong with him was always fraught with danger, and the wrongness was enough to evoke his protest. He used no soft words. He was no maker of polite phrases. He spoke in order to be understood, and therefore he "called a fig a fig, and a spade a spade." He went into the pulpit not because he had to say something, but because there was something in him which was compelling itself to be said. He spoke because he "could not but" speak. That irrepressibility gave volcanic energy to his manner and fiery force to his words, so that the effects produced by his sermons were not merely superficial. Like those modern missiles which burst in the wounds which they have made, his words exploded within the hearts of those who had received them, and set them on fire with convictions that flamed forth in their conduct. It was apparently impossible for any one to listen to him without being deeply moved, either to antagonism, or to enthusiastic agreement, or—for he could be tender also—to tears.
It may be said indeed that he allowed himself too great liberty in commenting on public men and national affairs; and we may readily admit that in ordinary times, and especially in our altered circumstances, it would be unwise in most preachers to use the pulpit precisely as he did. But we have to bear in mind that the crisis through which his country was passing at the time, was as much religious as political, and that the pulpit was the only organ at his command. To his credit be it recorded, that he was, if not the first, at least one of the very first to perceive the importance of making and guiding public opinion aright. He saw that the people were to be the virtual rulers in the coming time; nay, he recognised in them the ultimate arbiters for the decision of the great matters which were then in debate, and therefore he would not take time to go to royal closets or noblemen's studies, but made his appeal to the people as a body, and the pulpit was the only place in which he could do that. The daily press was not then born; the public meeting had not yet come into vogue; but what is now done by our editors in their columns, and by our statesmen in Midlothian campaigns, and such like, he did by his five weekly sermons in Edinburgh, and by his various preaching journeys in the south and west and north divisions of the kingdom. He informed and aroused public opinion. He appealed to the people, speaking to them as one under oath to the King of kings the while; and when we put the matter in that light, we have at once the defence of his procedure and the explanation of his success.
He was not always wise; neither was he always discriminating in his utterances. Who is? who especially when surrounded by the difficulties with which he had to contend? and we may well forgive him his occasional indiscretions, when we think of the work which, in spite of these, he was honoured to accomplish. By that work he has earned the gratitude of posterity, and deserved a place among the men who are most worthy to be remembered in these times. By that work the entire face and future of Scotland were changed. She has made great progress in many directions since his day, and outgrown many of the limitations within which he would have restricted her; but the success of his work made it possible for her to become what she is to-day. The liberty, the literature, the philosophy, as well as the religion of Scotland, could not have developed into what they became without the Reformation; and without Knox, humanly speaking, the Reformation would not have been at all, or at least would not have been what it actually became. He had not the lyric thrill of genius that vibrates in the songs of Robert Burns; but in his own way and to his own tune he sang, "A man's a man for a' that," two hundred years before the Ayrshire bard was born. He laid the foundation of that national popular education which has made Scotland at home so intelligent, and carried Scotsmen with honour abroad into all the countries under heaven; and though he would have protested very vehemently against the scepticism of Hume and others, yet the men who have made the Scottish school of philosophy illustrious, received, consciously or unconsciously, much of their impulse from his work. Add to this, that wherever Presbyterianism has found a foothold, its votaries name Knox side by side with Calvin, as one of its foremost leaders and organizers. But when we consider the shortness of the time within which Knox did his work for Scotland, the greatness of the man becomes still more conspicuous. He was forty-two years of age when he was called to preach in the Castle of St. Andrews, and he died at sixty-seven. Within these twenty-five years therefore his reformation work was done; and yet of these nearly two were spent as a galley-slave in French captivity, five were passed in England, three on the continent, and for the last year and a half of his life he was disabled by paralysis, so that his active labours in his native land were virtually condensed within little more than fourteen years. During these, also, he had to contend, save in the brief season of Murray's regency, with the greatest difficulties, but through them all he held on, and over them all he secured an ultimate triumph. His energy was consuming, his zeal untiring, and his vigilance unslumbering. With the eye of a statesman he looked into the future, while at the same time he keenly scrutinized the movements of the present. He had the near sight which sees what is closest to it with admirable distinctness, and the far sight which descries with equal accuracy what is distant, and with these he combined the philosophic spirit which marked very correctly the connection between the two. He was a true patriot, and ever willing to sacrifice himself in the welfare of his country. And all these qualities in him were raised to the white heat of enthusiasm, and fused into the unity of holiness by his devotion to the God and Father of his Saviour the Lord Jesus Christ. He spoke, and wrote, and acted as ever in His sight. This was the secret of his courage, the root of his inflexibility, and the source of his power. As a Reformer he had in him the boldness of Luther, combined with some of the qualities of Calvin, and though as a whole he was inferior to both, yet more than either he reminds us of a Hebrew prophet. When we see him before Queen Mary, we think at once of Elijah before Ahab, and more appropriately perhaps than any other man in modern history he might have taken for the motto of his life the oft-repeated asseveration of the Tishbite, "As the Lord God of Israel liveth, before whom I stand."
And yet, though sternly uttering in the highest places what he believed to be the word of God, there were not wanting in his character other traits of gentleness and geniality. As Carlyle has truly said, "Tumult was not his element, it was the tragic feature of his life that he was forced to dwell in that." He too, like the granite mountains of his native land, had in him fountains of tenderness, and valleys laughing with cheerfulness. He was not the heartless Stoic that many have ignorantly painted him, for have we not seen him weeping with those who were "sobbing unto God"? And though it may seem strange to those who have not made themselves acquainted with his history, there was in him a vein of humour, yea even, as Carlyle says, of "drollery," that makes him excellent company. This humour of his, as the writer just named has admirably diagnosed it, was "not mockery, scorn, bitterness, alone, though there is enough of that too, but a true, loving, illuminating laugh mounts up over the earnest visage; not a loud laugh; you would say a laugh in the eyes most of all."
But now our task is done. We have tried to show honestly the man as he was, and to describe dispassionately the work which he did. He is, if not pre-eminently the Scotchman of history,—though we think a good claim might be established for him as such,—yet certainly one of "the three mightiest," or of "the first three" of his nation; and like the vine whose branches spread over the wall, his influence has gone in blessing to other lands, for in his work we have the root of the English Revolution, and some of the seeds that were carried westward in the Mayflower, and sown in New England fields, had fallen from his hands. It is not inappropriate therefore that one whose labours in the ministry of the gospel have closely connected him alike with Scotland, England, and America, should pay this willing tribute to his name and work.
[[1]] "Catholic Presbyterian," vol. vi. p. 265.