19 June: Boreham on Philip Doddridge
A Creator of Greatness
We mark next week the 250th anniversary of the birth of a very notable Englishman, and in a few weeks we shall celebrate the bi-centenary of his death.[1] Philip Doddridge richly deserves to be remembered. He was the author of a classic that has been published by the million and translated into scores of foreign languages; he was a poet of whose inspired minstrelsy Dr. Johnson spoke in terms of superlative eulogy; he was a preacher and teacher of outstanding eminence; and, over and above all this, he stands in history as the natural link between the period of the Puritans that was just passing and the period of the great Revivalists that was just dawning.
Doddridge was the twentieth child of his parents, who both died in his fifteenth year. But when he woke to consciousness, and inquired concerning his nineteen brothers and sisters, he was told that they were all fast asleep—in the churchyard! All but one. And she, a sister, was so pitifully frail that she looked as if a puff of wind would blow her away. Nor had Philip himself any reason to crow over his potential playmates. For, at birth, he also was mistaken for a corpse and hidden away in a dark corner of the room as another of the family failures. A good woman who was attending on the mother fancied she noticed the barest suspicion of a movement in the chest of the discarded baby. She immediately set to work upon the child, and, after a while, announced that she had coaxed the boy to breathe.
A Great Book Inspires Great Men
Whenever he was asked as to his early training and the first impressions made upon his boyish mind, Dr. Doddridge always spoke with a smile of the blue Dutch tiles in the chimney-corner of his home. Like the tiles in Mr. Scrooge's fireplace which Dickens describes so minutely, they depicted all kinds of Biblical scenes. Mr. Scrooge studied the blue tiles in order to divert his mind from the horror of Mr. Marley's ghost. Philip Doddridge's association with the blue tiles was much more pleasant. Whilst the logs crackled of an evening, he would sprawl at his mother's feet as she told him the stories illustrated in the pictures. The impressions then created were, he himself said, never obliterated. He was 28 when he settled at Northampton. He had already been a few years in the ministry; had established an academy for the training of students; and had won the enthusiastic admiration of the celebrated Dr. Isaac Watts. Dr. Watts used to say that if, with his own eyes, he had not seen so many excellent qualities in harmonious combination, he would not have believed it possible, especially in one so young. His ministry at Northampton, which lasted his lifetime, is still regarded as one of the historic English ministries.
It was in 1744 that Doddridge wrote his masterpiece. It was said half a century later that no book ever written in the English tongue had so powerfully affected so many eminent lives as "The Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul." Among others, it completely transformed the life of William Wilberforce. As a young fellow, Wilberforce liked to go on continental tours, sometimes with William Pitt, who was exactly his own age, and sometimes with Isaac Milner. He was setting off on one of these tours with Milner when it occurred to him that he should take a book to read on rainy days. The first to hand was Doddridge's. The rainy days came. "The Rise and Progress" set Wilberforce thinking; and not all the festivities of his tour nor the laugh of his friends could dispel the feeling that took sole possession of his mind. It made a new man of him and gave to the world the statesman and abolitionist who afterwards figured so prominently in our history.
Beautified By Simplicity And Humanity
Had he given his mind to the creation of beautiful poesy, Doddridge might have anticipated Cowper as the harbinger, of the new age in English melody. Boswell tells us that when, in the famous circle at Gough Square, the name of Doddridge was mentioned, Dr. Johnson at once observed that he was the author of the most perfect epigram in the English language. The verse to which the old lexicographer alluded is based on the Doddridge family motto: "Dum Vivimus Vivamus," which some people thought most unsuitable as the crest of a Christian minister. In its vindication, Doddridge wrote:
In all probability, few of Doddridge's prose works are today very widely read. But he at least lives in the hymnaries of all the churches. Hymns like "O God of Bethel by whose hand," "O happy day that fixed my choice," "Hark, the glad sound, the Saviour comes," and others no less familiar, are even better known today than in their author's lifetime. By means of them, he belongs to the ages.
Dr. Doddridge is often spoken of as a great divine. But he was also a great human. There was nothing particularly striking about his appearance. His stature, his countenance, his manner, and his voice were all quite ordinary. In the pulpit he would catch fire and express himself with amazing vivacity. But, for the most part, he moved through life as a man among men, with a greeting for every man, an understanding word for every woman, and a wave of the hand for every child. Finally we see him driving, along roads littered with sodden Autumn leaves, on his way to Falmouth. He is hurrying to Lisbon in search of health. It is too late. He dies within a fortnight. He is buried there; and, a few months later, Henry Fielding, the father of our English fiction, comes, at just about the same age and on an identically similar quest, and lies down to rest beside him.
F W Boreham
Image: Philip Doddridge
[1] This editorial appears in the Hobart Mercury on June 23, 1951.
We mark next week the 250th anniversary of the birth of a very notable Englishman, and in a few weeks we shall celebrate the bi-centenary of his death.[1] Philip Doddridge richly deserves to be remembered. He was the author of a classic that has been published by the million and translated into scores of foreign languages; he was a poet of whose inspired minstrelsy Dr. Johnson spoke in terms of superlative eulogy; he was a preacher and teacher of outstanding eminence; and, over and above all this, he stands in history as the natural link between the period of the Puritans that was just passing and the period of the great Revivalists that was just dawning.Doddridge was the twentieth child of his parents, who both died in his fifteenth year. But when he woke to consciousness, and inquired concerning his nineteen brothers and sisters, he was told that they were all fast asleep—in the churchyard! All but one. And she, a sister, was so pitifully frail that she looked as if a puff of wind would blow her away. Nor had Philip himself any reason to crow over his potential playmates. For, at birth, he also was mistaken for a corpse and hidden away in a dark corner of the room as another of the family failures. A good woman who was attending on the mother fancied she noticed the barest suspicion of a movement in the chest of the discarded baby. She immediately set to work upon the child, and, after a while, announced that she had coaxed the boy to breathe.
A Great Book Inspires Great Men
Whenever he was asked as to his early training and the first impressions made upon his boyish mind, Dr. Doddridge always spoke with a smile of the blue Dutch tiles in the chimney-corner of his home. Like the tiles in Mr. Scrooge's fireplace which Dickens describes so minutely, they depicted all kinds of Biblical scenes. Mr. Scrooge studied the blue tiles in order to divert his mind from the horror of Mr. Marley's ghost. Philip Doddridge's association with the blue tiles was much more pleasant. Whilst the logs crackled of an evening, he would sprawl at his mother's feet as she told him the stories illustrated in the pictures. The impressions then created were, he himself said, never obliterated. He was 28 when he settled at Northampton. He had already been a few years in the ministry; had established an academy for the training of students; and had won the enthusiastic admiration of the celebrated Dr. Isaac Watts. Dr. Watts used to say that if, with his own eyes, he had not seen so many excellent qualities in harmonious combination, he would not have believed it possible, especially in one so young. His ministry at Northampton, which lasted his lifetime, is still regarded as one of the historic English ministries.
It was in 1744 that Doddridge wrote his masterpiece. It was said half a century later that no book ever written in the English tongue had so powerfully affected so many eminent lives as "The Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul." Among others, it completely transformed the life of William Wilberforce. As a young fellow, Wilberforce liked to go on continental tours, sometimes with William Pitt, who was exactly his own age, and sometimes with Isaac Milner. He was setting off on one of these tours with Milner when it occurred to him that he should take a book to read on rainy days. The first to hand was Doddridge's. The rainy days came. "The Rise and Progress" set Wilberforce thinking; and not all the festivities of his tour nor the laugh of his friends could dispel the feeling that took sole possession of his mind. It made a new man of him and gave to the world the statesman and abolitionist who afterwards figured so prominently in our history.
Beautified By Simplicity And Humanity
Had he given his mind to the creation of beautiful poesy, Doddridge might have anticipated Cowper as the harbinger, of the new age in English melody. Boswell tells us that when, in the famous circle at Gough Square, the name of Doddridge was mentioned, Dr. Johnson at once observed that he was the author of the most perfect epigram in the English language. The verse to which the old lexicographer alluded is based on the Doddridge family motto: "Dum Vivimus Vivamus," which some people thought most unsuitable as the crest of a Christian minister. In its vindication, Doddridge wrote:
Live while you live, the epicure would say,
And seize the pleasures of the
present day.
Live while you live, the sacred preacher cries,
And give to
God each moment as it flies!
Lord, in my views let both united be;
I live
in pleasure when I live to Thee.
In all probability, few of Doddridge's prose works are today very widely read. But he at least lives in the hymnaries of all the churches. Hymns like "O God of Bethel by whose hand," "O happy day that fixed my choice," "Hark, the glad sound, the Saviour comes," and others no less familiar, are even better known today than in their author's lifetime. By means of them, he belongs to the ages.
Dr. Doddridge is often spoken of as a great divine. But he was also a great human. There was nothing particularly striking about his appearance. His stature, his countenance, his manner, and his voice were all quite ordinary. In the pulpit he would catch fire and express himself with amazing vivacity. But, for the most part, he moved through life as a man among men, with a greeting for every man, an understanding word for every woman, and a wave of the hand for every child. Finally we see him driving, along roads littered with sodden Autumn leaves, on his way to Falmouth. He is hurrying to Lisbon in search of health. It is too late. He dies within a fortnight. He is buried there; and, a few months later, Henry Fielding, the father of our English fiction, comes, at just about the same age and on an identically similar quest, and lies down to rest beside him.
F W Boreham
Image: Philip Doddridge
[1] This editorial appears in the Hobart Mercury on June 23, 1951.
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