King Solomon to a Higher Critic A n Imaginary Letter to Dr. W . T . Davison, late Principal of Richmond College, Eng. B? REV. SHERWIN SMITH
wriggle through. You see w hat a w retch I am. I hardly kno^v myself w hether I did repent, b u t th e good God has given me the benefit of th e doubt. Then you come along, and say th a t it is one of th e assured resu lts of Criti-, cism th a t I had nothing to do w ith this book. You take away .from me»my one ewe lamb. There is no distinction in my death. It is as I said— “th e wise man is as th e fool; one death cometh to all alike.” Yet I though t I had the distinction of w riting those very words, of laying bare the ingrained unsatisfac toriness of my life, of saying all th a t th e re is to be said in th a t way, and then coming home at last— “This is the end of th e m atter: P ear God and keep His commandments.” But it is all a made-up th ing to you, an Epicurean exercise, somebody mim icking me, a Solomonic joke. It was no joking m a tte r to me. I came as near blasphemy as a man dare, when I w rote th a t book. I had determ ined to be as frank as I could be. As my fath e r used to say, “Above all, be sincere, my boy, confess.” Its m erit is its frankness. I would not like to th ink th a t any man would w rite triflingly, w ith an eye to effect, whht I w rote in dead earnest. The Word of God is no place for trifles. It is the-place for th e repentance of so' g reat a sinner as I. But tjiere! You are not content w ith w hat you call an “ assured resu lt of criti cism.” You go on to make a Bible p rin ciple of it. You say th a t it is clear now “ th a t impersonation is no fraud, th a t th e obvious or literal meaning of Scripture is not necessarily the rig h t
EiV. SHERWIN SMITH ima gines King Solomon 'w riting th e following le tte r to Dr. W. T. Davison, a higher critic who has b itterly attacked the book of Ecclesiastes*, and de nied th a t Solomon ever w rote
it. Sir: —
You have w ritten a book on th e ‘^Wis dom L ite ra tu re of th e Bible,” in which you tre a t a t some length o f Ecclesiastes and endeavour to rob me of th e honour, a doubtful honour perhaps, of having w ritten th a t sad, if wise, book. Man, you do no t know what you are doing. There has always been some perplexity as to my fate in E tern ity , bu t th a t I am alive a t th is day and in well enough being to w rite thus to you is due entirely to th a t book. I do no t care to look back on th e retrospect of my life as viewed in th e ligh t of E ternity. It is a story of lost chances, and blighted prospects, of pride going before a fall. I am not proud, either, of my penitence as it breaks fo rth in my book Ecclesi astes, especially when set alongside my dear fa th e r’s in his fifty-first Psalm. But th e re you are. Children always go opposite to th e ir parents. My fath er saw th ing s so simply, I was bound to be cross-grained. I hated his simpli city a t times, a t others I would have given all my w ealth for it. But he tri umphed a t th e last. The only v irtu e in Ecclesiastes is— th a t it is myself, my own foolish-wise self. I cannot simply say, like my father, “I have sinned in th a t I have done,” b u t I must invite the whole creation to look on while I
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