ive
to it the measure of God's love and the manner of its action in human
life. Dr. Bushnell may or may not have thought with absolute correctness
on these themes, but he thought with consummate ability, he wrote with
great eloquence and power, and he left many pages that are to be
cherished as literature, while theologically they "point the way we are
going."

One of the most characteristic and interesting things about Dr. Bushnell
is the method he took to find his way between this spiritual view of
things and that world of theological orthodoxy where he stood by virtue
of his profession. It was a very hard and dry world,--a world chiefly of
definitions,--but it covered vital realities, and so must have had some
connection with the other world. Dr. Bushnell bridged the chasm by a
theory of language which he regarded as original with himself. It was
not new, but he elaborated it in an original way and with great ability.
In its main feature it was simply a claim to use in theology the
symbolism of poetry; it regarded language as something that attempts to
make one feel the inexpressible truth, rather than a series of
definitions which imply that it can be exactly stated in words; it held
that truth is larger than any form which attempts to express it; it
images and reflects truth instead of defining it.

This theory might be assumed without so long explication as he gave, but
it was greatly needed in the theological world, which at that time was
sunk in a sea of metaphysical definition, and consumed with a lust for
explaining everything in heaven and earth in terms of alphabetic
plainness. Dr. Bushnell was not only justified by the necessity of his
situation in resorting to his theory, but he had the right which every
man of genius may claim for himself. Any one whose thought is broader
than that about him, whose feeling is deeper, whose imagination is
loftier, is entitled to such a use of language as shall afford him
fullest expression; for he alone knows just how much of thought,
feeling, and imagination, how much of himself, he puts into his words;
they are coin whose value he himself has a right to indicate by his own
stamp. There is no pact with others to use language in any given way,
except upon some very broad basis as to the main object of language. The
first object is not to secure definite and comprehensive understanding,
but to give expression, and to start thought which may lead to full
understanding--as