Sermons by Jonathan Edwards on the Matthean Parables, Volume III

Fish Out of Their Element (on the Parable of the Net)

Minkema, Neele

• Publisher: Cascade Books
• Year: 2012
• eBook ISBN: 9781621894438
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Religion

This third volume of Sermons by Jonathan Edwards on the Matthean Parables contains a previously unpublished series of sermons by Edwards on Jesus' Parable of the Net, as found in Matthew 13. Edwards preached these sermons in 1746, after the major phase of the Great Awakening had passed in New England and during the very months he was completing and publishing A Treatise Concerning Religious Affections, his masterful statement on the true and false signs of true grace. Therefore, this series is significant for its place in Edwards' rich and evolving view of the nature of religious experience. To assist the reader, preceding the series are two introductions that describe Edwards' preaching style and method, and provide an historical context. Prepared from the original manuscripts by the staff of the Jonathan Edwards Center at Yale University, this series represents a significant addition to the available Edwards corpus that will be of interest to scholars, religious leaders, and general readers.

Introduction

Edwards the Preacher

Wilson H. Kimnach

Edwards’ Thoughts on Preaching

Jonathan Edwards was in full agreement with his teachers respecting the exalted status of the preacher. For though his writings occasionally contain references to “earthen vessels” and sometimes emphasize the preacher’s humble situation as a son of Adam, it is much more common for Edwards to see the preacher as a man exalted and even transfigured by his calling. Indeed, in some of the earliest entries in his “Miscellanies” (nos. mm, qq, and 40) Edwards attempts to define to his own satisfaction the nature of the call, the limits and quality of a minister’s influence in society, and the power in preaching or teaching the divine Word.

Yet it is clear that those that are in the New Testament called ministers are not every private Christian, and consequently if [any] such remain now as are there spoken of, they are distinct from other Christians. ’Tis clear they are born undistinguished; from this ’tis clear they are distinguished afterwards. ’Tis also evident that they are distinguished some way or other by Christ . . .1

This earliest entry on the office of the preacher calls attention to the essentially aristocratic bias of Edwards, which is quite in keeping with his upbringing, while it also demonstrates his characteristic propensity to rethink every important aspect of his life “from the ground up,” regardless of his background and training. He may not seriously question the assumptions of his heritage, but he will insist upon a personal formulation of that heritage in his own written words.

The preacher is, then, a “chosen one” with a distinct charisma as a result of his call to serve Christ. He is invested with a capacity and right to instruct, lead, and judge his people;2 he has no pretension to civil authority, but in the all-important moral and spiritual realms he is, of all human beings, supremely authoritative. “Miscellanies” no. 40 contains early speculations upon the powers that would inhere in the effective preaching of the Word, specifically:

Without doubt, ministers are to teach men what Christ would have them to do, and to teach them who doth these things and who doth them not; that is, who are Christians and who are not . . .

Thus, if I in a right manner am become the teacher of a people, so far as they ought to hear what I teach them, so much power I have. Thus, if they are obliged to hear me only because they themselves have chosen me to guide them, and therein declared that they thought me sufficiently instructed in the mind of Christ to teach them, and because I have the other requisites of being their teacher, then I have power as other ministers have in these days. But if it was plain to them that I was under the infallible guidance of Christ, then I should have more power. And if it was plain to all the world of Christians that I was under the infallible guidance of Christ, and [that] I was sent forth to teach the world the will of Christ, then I should have power in all the world. I should have power to teach them what they ought to do, and they would be obliged to hear me; I should have power to teach them who were Christians and who not, and in this likewise they would be obliged to hear me.3

As in a daydream, the student-preacher toys with the mystery of the call, and at least by implication ponders the limits and possibilities of the role of a preacher. Could he command the people, or even the world, as a divine messenger? Obviously, there must be some immediate sign, some quality of utterance, that would in itself attest to the supernatural ordination. In this early passage Edwards is already pondering aspects of sermonic style, but characteristically he begins on the most general and profound, most philosophical level. Puritan ministers had always been urged to “preach powerfully,” but in this meditation there are new undertones, and “power” clearly relates to a divine investiture that transcends conventional sectarian sanctions. Certainly it seems that Edwards was as well fitted to study the art of preaching under the imperious Solomon Stoddard—his grandfather and predecessor as the pastor of Northampton, Massachusetts—as any man.

Edwards did not pretend to eloquence or a fine style. Indeed, from the first he seems to have made a point of proclaiming his lack of a fine style.

[T]he practical discourses that follow . . . now appear in that very plain and unpolished dress in which they were first prepared and delivered; which was mostly at a time when the circumstances of the auditory they were preached to, were enough to make a minister neglect, forget, and despise such ornaments as politeness and modishness of style and method, when coming as a messenger from God to souls deeply impressed with a sense of their danger of God’s everlasting wrath, to treat with them about their eternal salvation. However unable I am to preach or write politely, if I would, yet I have this to comfort me under such a defect; that God has showed us that he don’t need such talents in men to carry on his own work, and that he has been pleased to smile upon and bless a very plain, unfashionable way of preaching. And have we not reason to think that it ever has been, and ever will be, God’s manner to bless the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe, let the elegance of language, and excellency of style, be carried to never so great a height, by the learning and wit of the present and future ages?

This passage, from the Preface to Discourses on Various Important Subjects (1738),4 is characteristic of the tone of most of Edwards’ prefaces, though the discussion is a little more explicit and fully developed. It is defensive, condemning wit and style out of hand as irrelevant to effective preaching, while also suggesting an incapacity for stylistic excellence on his own part.

Part of this may be explained by Edwards’ cultural background that would have taught him to think of rhetoric or eloquence as a thing separable from the logical structure of an argument.5 Since he was consciously developing a heart-piercing manner of writing that would be as spare and efficient as an arrow, he assumed that “style,” being an adventitious decoration, would have to be left out. It would not have struck Edwards that that efficacious verbal expression for which he constantly strove and “style” might be the same thing. Thus he really could spend much of his lifetime studying the theory and practice of language and metaphor without “paying any attention to style.” Of course, part of the problem is also that, as in the seventeenth century, preaching styles were associated with theological positions. In Edwards’ day many of the most eloquent preachers of the East were suspect in Edwards’ eyes of being rationalist, Arminian, or just theologically jejune. He would therefore rather deny excellence in his carefully wrought sermons than be thought—perhaps even by himself—to be a creature of wit and style. He was too serious, too full of thought, and too honest for style.

Indeed, if Edwards claimed brilliance of any kind it was the more essential and “substantial” excellence of thought, and once again he saw himself as being out of tune with the times:

Our discovering the absurdity of the impertinent and abstruse distinctions of the School Divines, may justly give us a distaste of such distinctions as have a show of learning in obscure words, but convey no light to the mind; but I can see no reason why we should also discard those that are clear and rational, and can be made out to have their foundation in truth.

In the same Preface,6 in a sustained argument of two pages, he defends the virtue of “real” fine distinctions in elaborating the “mysteries” of religion. If, as Cotton Mather contended in Manuductio ad Ministerium (1726), his instruction manual for aspiring ministers, that reason is natural to the soul of man, then Edwards would have him test this capacity, as he would fully exercise the heart, in the quest of a valid apprehension of divine truths.

Edwards may have been inspired by the example of his father Timothy Edwards, minister of East Windsor, Connecticut, to use the utmost rigor in making convicting arguments, and Stoddard undoubtedly provided the pattern for a potent, “psychological” rhetoric for which Edwards had no name. But having a finer mind and more imagination than either Stoddard or Timothy Edwards, Edwards outperformed each at his specialty while combining elements of both their strategies. His intense interest in the mysterious power of language, however, was apparently innate.

Edwards’ matured vision of the ideal preacher is most completely delineated in his ordination sermon on John 5:35, entitled The True Excellency of a Minister of the Gospel (1744).7 There, he insists that a minister must be “both a burning and a shining light”; that “his heart burn with love to Christ, and fervent desires of the advancement of his kingdom and glory,” and that “his instructions [be] clear and plain, accommodated to the capacity of his hearers, and tending to convey light to their understandings.” This peculiar combination of head and heart, he insists, is absolutely necessary to the success of a preacher:

When light and heat are thus united in a minister of the gospel, it shows that each is genuine, and of a right kind, and that both are divine. Divine light is attended with heat; and so, on the other hand, a truly divine and holy heat and ardor is ever accompanied with light.

That both heat and light may be acquired by the aspiring preacher, Edwards urges him to be “diligent in [his] studies,” “very conversant with the holy Scriptures,” and “much in seeking God, and conversing with him by prayer, who is the fountain of light and love.” All in all, Edwards’ ideal does not seem to be very different from that of the traditional preacher of the time, except that in the full context of the sermon and through the extensive use of light imagery, he suggests a standard of transcendent dedication and nearly mystical fervor that is rare in any age. And like Stoddard before him, Edwards cultivated a subtle personal tone in his rhetoric that, more than any stated principle, demonstrates the risk-taking commitment demanded of the good preacher.

Edwards is best known for his defenses of passionate emotion, including “hellfire,” in revival preaching. And, indeed, in Religious Affections he argues that “such means are to be desired, as have much of a tendency to move the affections.”8 Moreover, in Some Thoughts on the Revival of Religion in New England, he emphatically insists that

Though . . . clearness of distinction and illustration, and strength of reason, and a good method, in the doctrinal handling of the truths of religion, is many ways needful and profitable, and not to be neglected. . . . Our people don’t so much need to have their heads stored, as to have their hearts touched; and they stand in the greatest need of that sort of preaching that has the greatest tendency to do this.9

As for “hellfire” preaching in particular, Edwards argues:

Some talk of it as an unreasonable thing to think to fright persons to heaven; but I think it is a reasonable thing to endeavor to fright persons away from hell . . . ’tis a reasonable thing to fright a person...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• List of Contributors
• Preface
• Chapter 1: Introduction: Edwards the Preacher
• Chapter 2: Introduction: The Historical Context
• Chapter 3: Fish Out Their Element