He soliloquizes. There is almost a minimum of mutual relation
between speaker and hearer. Undoubtedly the swift, urgent monologue is
quickened, reinforced, by the consciousness of an audience present. That
consciousness, of course, penetrates to the mind of the speaker. But it
does not dominate the speaker's mind; it does not turn monologue into
dialogue; the speech is monologue still.
This is not invariably the case; for, occasionally, the preacher turns
his noble face toward you, and for that instant you feel the aim of his
discourse leveled full at your personality. Now there is a glimpse of
true oratorical power. But the glimpse passes quickly. The countenance
is again directed forward toward a horizon, or even lifted toward a
quarter of the sky above the horizon, and the but momentarily
interrupted rapt soliloquy proceeds.
Such I understand to have been the style of Robert Hall's pulpit speech.
It is a rare gift to be a speaker of this sort. The speaker must be a
thinker as well as a speaker. The speech is, in truth, a process of
thinking aloud--thinking accelerated, exhilarated, by the vocal exercise
accompanying, and then, too, by the blindfold sense of a listening
audience near. This is the preaching of Mr. Brooks.
It is, perhaps, not generally known that Mr. Brooks practices two
distinct methods of preaching: one, that with the manuscript; the other,
that without. The last time that I had the chance of a Sunday in Trinity
Church was Luther's day.
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