Chapter III. Evan Roberts.

Now that the excitement of the Revival is over, and the nation has regained its sanity, we are able to look more dispassionately upon the career of a man who, for a brief period, loomed largely in the imagination of the people. Different men, according to their temperament, appreciate different sides of him; so to write an analysis is a delicate and difficult task. It is delicate on account of denominational prejudices and ambitions. It is difficult owing to the diverse and conflicting views that have been held regarding Evan Roberts himself and of the Revival—its origin, character and ultimate effect, and the place it is likely to occupy among the religious factors of modern Wales. Life is full of unique and baffling individualities that have given rise to conflicting contentions among their contemporaries, and food for quarrel among future historians. England has her Joseph Chamberlain, Florence her Lorenzo the Magnificent, Scotland her Burns, and Wales her Kilsby Jones. Such characters are inviting subjects for those who believe that history is psychology; and there is no stronger hold on the public mind than curiosity in personality. As to Evan Roberts, it can be safely said that people were moved more by the mystery of the man than by his cause. In the estimation of the general public at the time, he was an ideal spiritual leader—an inspired Revivalist in the best and highest sense of the term. The sight of his face, the sound of his voice, and the echo of his name, were refreshing to them. Men who had mortgaged their soul’s to the devil, and for whom preachers and churches affected a pity and a sorrow, but who regarded them as too bad to be cured, felt that they were indebted to Evan Roberts, as the symbol of the Revival, for the one ray of heavenly light that had fallen upon their souls, and the one genial glow of hope that had entered their homes—homes that for many weary years had been darkened by sin and unbelief. There were others, whose piety was unquestioned and unquestionable, men who hailed with glad surprise the golden brightness of the latest Revival that had just dawned upon the land; to their natures Evan Roberts did not, and possibly could not, appeal. They looked for the image and superscription of the heaven-sent messenger, and were disappointed. To them he was neither a feeder nor a medium. Even a good man with excellent qualities may repel rather than attract. it is a question of moral temper. That Evan Roberts did repel, that he quenched rather than inflamed the Revival flame in many districts, there can be no doubt. Evidence of the fact abounds, and it is indisputable. In a book called ‘With Christ among the Miners’ there is this statement: “He “—meaning Evan Roberts—“impressed his personality on every meeting. Again, he seemed to perceive instinctively what each ordinance was capable of; and, as with the skill of a musician, he made each ordinance yield its value.” This statement is not true to facts. One of the four articles of the Revival, or confession of faith, which he has caused to be written and to be made public, was instant and absolute obedience to the promptings of the Holy Spirit. At Zion, Cwmavon, Mr. Thomas Roberts, a Wesleyan by profession of faith, an aged Christian gentleman, one of the landmarks of the valley, began to pray; but he had uttered only a few sentences when the Revivalist stopped him. The Holy Spirit prompted the one to pray, and the same Spirit prompted the other to suppress him. Then Mr. David Elias, a Baptist brother, offered prayers. Evan Roberts said, “It is enough.” But David Elias paid no heed to the interruption. The Revivalist called for verses, and they came by the dozen; but David Elias continued to pray, his clear, bell-like voice being heard above the din and clatter. Evan Roberts sat down, and remained silent until Elias had finished. There was a revulsion of feeling that the Revivalist did not fail to detect, and he fell in a heap on the floor of the pulpit, at the same time giving vent to the most doleful exclamations. The confusion was as indescribable as it was painful. At the request of an American lady, Mr. Edward Davies asked Evan Roberts to repeat in English what he had just said in Welsh; but he replied that the Holy Spirit did not permit him to utter it in English. It sounded the death-knell of the Revival in the Avan Valley. The flame was there, but it was extinguished. The tide began to ebb, and ebb it did; and the last state of that Church is worse than the first. Evan Roberts had an appointment at Cwmaman on Sunday, April 9, 1905. Through a misprint, the press announced it was Cwmavon, with the result that many strangers flocked into the Avan Valley on that day. Mr. David Nicholas and Inspector William Williams were on the point of entering Zion Chapel, to attend the Young People’s Prayer-Meeting at 9.30 a.m., when they were approached by Mr. D. L. Rodger, of Rutherglen, Scotland, who is President of the Evangelistic Institute of that place. After the mistake had been explained, he decided to spend the Sabbath with the friends at Zion. The late Rev. Elias Davies, of Llanelly, was the preacher. The chapel was crowded, and the feeling both high and intense. The preacher read from Isaiah: “Every one that thirsteth,” etc. His reading was full of sweetness and tenderness. Then he asked the congregation to sing, “O dragwyddol Graig yr Oesoedd.” At this juncture some strangers were seen making their way into the chapel—Dutchmen, Frenchmen, and a few from Switzerland. Not one of them could speak English, except one of the Frenchmen, and that was very little. It was with considerable difficulty that Mr. Davies was able to deliver his discourse; but, being a strong character, he held the reins. His message was so full of love, of sympathy and of insight into the everyday life and needs of the people, that it was like the very breath of God. At the close he invited the congregation to give vent to the thoughts of their hearts; but he did not permit more than one to pray or to speak at a time. What the Dutchmen and their comrades from Switzerland said no one knew; but it was evident that they had “caught the fire,” as the phrase ran. When the Frenchman came to the word “Calvary,” his pronunciation was so peculiar, and so touching, that the people felt an indescribable something that brought a throb to the throat and a tear to the eye. Never within the memory of the oldest inhabitant had there been such a manifestation of Divine Power. The Revival was there in all its fulness; and yet there was no disorder, no cross-currents, but everything carried on with decency and propriety. The name of Evan Roberts was never mentioned. At Zoar, Neath, at a later date, there were some peculiar incidents. Two hours before Evan Roberts appeared, the building was packed to suffocation. For about ten minutes there was a stillness as of death. It was broken by an aged man, who read a chapter with such pathos and tenderness that touched the hearts of all. Then his voice was heard in prayer, and he seemed as if in converse with the Almighty; he was an old standard-bearer of the Cross, who had kept the faith—simple, humble, and with a childlikeness that brought tears from the eyes of strong men not easily moved. The strain was great—so great that it could not be borne any longer. Before the veteran was half through his prayer, five or six got on their feet and began to pray simultaneously. It was the beginning. A young woman in the gallery cried out for mercy. Then there occurred a very remarkable thing. The whole congregation, as if divinely inspired, commenced to sing a hymn—the same hymn. Nobody gave the lead. It was spontaneous, unanimous, and full of holy fervour. It had not entered into the heart of any man present to conceive such a thing possible. It was three o’clock. Then someone whispered, “Here he comes.” The whole congregation was on its feet in an instant. There was Evan Roberts being brought in between two policemen. He at once ascended the pulpit stairs, sat down, and as usual buried his face in his hands. Shortly afterwards he stood on his feet, and began the process of scanning. At last he said, “The Spirit of God is not here.” “He has spoilt our meeting,” said a deacon, and half a dozen men who sat near by murmured assent. The people seemed to have turned their faces away from God, and were looking to the Revivalist. The Spirit had come and gone; the tide began to ebb, and ebbed until the close. Failing to get the response which he desired, Evan Roberts, with uplifted hands, suddenly exclaimed, “The meeting is at an end.” He did not give out a parting hymn of praise, he did not pronounce the Benediction. The dismissal was sudden, abrupt and even annoying. At Ebenezer, Aberdare, he told a Calvinistic Methodist minister who sat next to him in the pulpit that the place was full of devils, and that he could not remain, at the same time advising that the meeting should be brought to a close. But the minister in question thought otherwise; he knew the people, for he had lived among them. Evan Roberts left and went to Bryn Seion, only to make a similar complaint, namely, that Bryn Seion likewise was full of devils. An aged Christian man in the gallery called out in holy anger, “Art thou a prophet?” Numerous other instances could be quoted showing how vast multitudes of people had congregated together for hours in the heavings of the Revival wave, feeling that they were face to face with the realities of life, conscious of the Divine presence in their midst, only to be told by Evan Roberts within five minutes of his appearance that the Holy Spirit was not there, because they had hindered His operations and refused to give obedience. When they sang, they were told that they did not sing with sincerity. In one instance he is alleged to have said that 300 hypocrites were marring the effect of a certain hymn that was being sung. But however inexplicable and even painful many of his actions may have been, he must be given justice; and if there are any doubtful points, he should have the benefit of them. In the scientific world I am content to sit at the feet of superior intelligences. I acknowledge the right of the Maxwells and the Darwins to instruct me, and my deference is sincere and complete. So when I come into the ethical and spiritual realm, I find gifted souls that can teach and enlighten—men whose feeling for the Infinite is stronger than mine—men whose love of God and His Son surpasses mine, for the reason that their capacity is greater—men who have lived lives transcendently holier than mine, and whose insight into the mind and purposes of the Spirit is keener than mine can ever hope to be. These men of finer clay, with their genius for spirituality, impose upon me certain obligations that I have neither the right nor the desire to repudiate. In a whirlpool of cross-currents it is difficult to see such boiling masses in the narrows of some mighty river; and, in spite of the swirling chaos, we are able to know that these waters are really hurrying to the sea, and in what point of the compass that broad sea lies. At the time, the Revival seemed a mere whirlpool, with disordered waves flung aimlessly from side to side, and the Revivalist himself was a wonder and a mystery to thousands. Evan Roberts was not intellectual in the sense intellectuality is commonly understood. He was moved more by his emotions than by his ideas; and such ideas as he uttered had been current in the pulpit for generations. He was more intuitive than inductive or deductive. His broken sentences had more of the heat of passion than of the dry light of truth. He had no fundamental doctrine, no system of theology, no distinctive ideal He bore no traces of culture save that form of culture that one discovers in the peasant and the artisan, and that is often conspicuous by its absence in the University man who wears the hood and gown. Those who came to hear a great sermon, or even a sermon, were disillusioned. He was not an expositor or even a fluent speaker. His schooldays were few and irregular. In estimating character, we are generally able to see some ethical, mental or moral aspect that enables us to trace the springs of action in the temperament; and the higher we ascend, the clearer are the lines that delineate the personality. Take, for instance, such characters as Garibaldi, Gladstone, Milton, and others equally eminent: here are men who held the moral and intellectual sceptres of Europe — men whose patronage was the very breath of heaven to the weak and downtrodden, and whose personalities provided a hospitable harbourage for those who, in every land, sighed for autonomy of conscience and the blessings of liberty. As we follow them in their romantic and stirring careers, we can detect the constructive and modifying influences that combined to make them what they were. The same principle of interpretation is applicable to other men less known to fame because less conspicuous in talent and in achievement. But in our endeavour to compass Evan Roberts, we are baffled, not on the score of greatness, or of accomplishments, or of service, but on the ground of complexity. There is nothing of a colossal nature: the dimensions are very small, and the horizon is exceedingly circumscribed. It is our habit to speak vaguely of genius in explanation of any unusual, or even eccentric, trait in the individual; genius is the modern cosmopolitan Abraham that is called upon to father freaks and to chaperon qualities that the world characterizes as abnormal. If a Welshman of some note is unconventional in his habits, or strangely irregular in his moods, or suffers from fits of abstraction, we have our traditional method of unravelling the mystery: we classify him as a “genius.” So the tribe is numerous in Wales. But is there nothing that lies back of genuine genius?—no toil?—no anticipatory adaptation?—no psychological conditions? The inner history of every masterpiece, whether in the realm of art, of science, of poetry, or of statesmanship, and which at first sight has the appearance of spontaneity, is not struck off at a flash. But here Evan Roberts eludes us. He makes a sudden leap into fame. People said that he had a clairvoyant’s face. Those who were privileged to enjoy his fellowship affirmed that he was a lovable character. But what is the secret of the fact that men and women travelled long distances—from England, Scotland, Ireland, the United States of America, and the Continent of Europe—swayed by one common impulse, and that impulse centred in Evan Roberts? Let us analyze this impulse. What were its main elements? It originated in the “bloom” which the press of South Wales cast upon him. They canonized him, and gave him a name and a fame that caused people from far and near to prejudge his relation to a Revival of which he was not the originator, not the medium, and not the feeder. There had been for months and years—there were even then—influences at work that were independent of his initiative or control. As to the nature of the impulse, it was an awe-inspiring impulse due to the impression that had been externally created that Evan Roberts stood in relation to God, to the Spirit, and to the Son as no other minister or priest, young or old, did. “All men are compelled to be honest before Evan Roberts,” wrote a Calvinistic Methodist to the ‘Goleuad’; “there is something in his face that mesmerizes the people; none can play the hypocrite in his presence.” The italics (underlinings) are mine. People believed that he could read their thoughts and their past life like a page in a book. Some thought that he had the power of life and death. This state of mind is partly reflected in the biography of Evan Roberts by the Rev. D. M. Phillips, M.A., Ph.D., of Tylorstown, Rhondda Valley. His personality is surrounded with clouds of marvel, and even of miracle. We are told that if the midwife that held Evan Roberts in her arms when a babe knew of his future, she would fear and tremble, and many of the old saints would have gone to the parents’ house repeating the words of Simeon of old when he saw the child Jesus, “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.” Dr. Phillips tells us that Evan Roberts’s mental powers were of the first order, and that at the age of thirteen he began to write his auto-biography, and this is recorded as an indication of the richness of the inner aspect of his life, with the assurance that, had what Evan Roberts wrote at that age concerning himself been preserved, it would have been a substantial addition to our knowledge of the philosophy of mental activities. The biographer proceeds to say that Evan Roberts might have attained a high position as a musical composer or as an expert shorthand writer, and that he even captured a prize for the best loveletter, which, we are assured, proved that he had an eye to see the movements of others around him. Furthermore, Evan Roberts, we are informed, might have become famous as a poet. In order to substantiate this contention, we are referred to a poetic effusion of the Revivalist called, “A Sacrifice for Thy sake.” The idea of the poem is that sorrow has lost its existence or essence to the company on board a ship in mid-ocean. “It is difficult,” says the biographer, “to find a stronger line than this in poetry.” “An unbiassed reader will be compelled to admit that such poetical genius as is revealed in this is not to be found in all the pages of even the best authors.” The author proceeds to state that he never saw such eyes as those of Evan Roberts, for they varied with the rapidity of a lightning flash; that his feet were well formed and, as to size, proportioned to his body; and that the swing of his arms suggested the moving wings of a gentle dove; and that he had a nose tending to be aquiline, showing that Evan Roberts could have made an army commander. This is set forth as part of the physical and mental “preparation of the possibility” in Evan Roberts for the work of an evangelist. It is alleged that Evan Roberts attended a gathering at Loughor in the company of his mother where Mr. John Morgan, one of the deacons of Moriah, was presented with a pair of spectacles. On the way home he told his mother how glad he was that he had been at the meeting, because he had seen Mr. Morgan in a new light. His mother “pondered” over the saying, for it was extraordinary that one so young should take such a view of things. One day he met a man proceeding to the well under the field. Evan Roberts accosted him with this observation: “You carry water to quench the material thirst of people; I do my best to quench their thirst with spiritual water.” Let me quote a few more illustrations as the author gives them: “The incarnation of Christ contained the possibility of the atonement; the same truth holds good with regard to the works of Evan Roberts: they are all the outcome of the possibility that was in him in the cradle.” “We have no doubt but that his connection with manual labour played an important part in preparing his mental powers for revival work. And why not? Was not the daily task of Jesus of Nazareth, until He was thirty years of age, a greater factor in the preparation of His possibilities to accomplish His infinite work for sinners?” “On one occasion it was not too much for him and some of his young friends to whitewash Moriah chapel” “When they (his brothers and sisters) saw him approaching the house, they would say one to another, ‘We must be quiet: Evan is coming.’ There was no need for him to utter a word: a glance from him would ensure silence.” “His mother affirms that there was not necessity to reprove or advise him when a child.” “In his own person, the renowned Revivalist knows what it is to be tempted in all things. For this reason he can weep with those that weep for their sins, and rejoice with those that overcome them.” “I have seen him engaged in silent prayer in the pulpit for an hour and a half” “In two places where I was present with him he suddenly said, ‘There is a multitude praying for me now ’; and he could not hearken to the conversation attentively, as though he could hear the prayers; and then he would come to himself again, and converse with us.” “Evan Roberts has to stop people proceeding in their prayers, for he knows that they are prompted by false motives.” Of his sermons it is said, “They must have been done by him, for they are not like any other man’s works.” “The young people sought his company notwithstanding his purity.” As evidence of Evan Roberts’s strong faith, reference is made to the time when he saved one Jenkin Evans from drowning. “He threw his arms around Evans’s neck, and both went down. Evan had not learned to swim, but he believed he could, and he therefore did swim.” “There is reason,” says the biographer, “for saying that for ages long the day of the dawn of the Revival will be commemorated; but there is more reason why the birthday of Evan Roberts should be commemorated.” It is not necessary to make any further quotations. These are sufficient, and they serve as a reflex of the time of the Revival. Superstition and hero-worship were the order of the hour. It was declared that Evan Roberts had asked the Lord for 100,000 for Jesus Christ, and that he had actually seen Jesus presenting a cheque to His Father, and on it the figure “100,000.” Such a declaration could not fail to appeal to the imagination of a race of people possessing a predominance of religious sensibility and an excess of the impulsive and the passionate. This explains the promptitude with which the people responded to his request from the pulpit of the Tabernacle Church (C.M.), Cwmavon, that the windows should be broken. As soon as the command was uttered it was executed. To the young, and especially the women, it was an evidence of his extraordinary position as a Divine messenger sent of God. To disobey might, and in the mind of many would, be a sin. Evan Roberts knew, therefore he spoke; and thus the multitude acquiesced. So ran the common sentiment. Then, he himself was a man full of emotional hypnotism, more by nature than by practice. His habit and power of transfixing each and every person with what has been termed his “homage-compelling gaze,” was by no means an immaterial factor, and his power of suggestion was remarkable. Not that he dissembled; he had not seen enough of the world for that. Undoubtedly, he observed facts and classified them, using all available means for a thorough understanding of his audience, making a mental survey of the rows of faces before him, and adapting his method to the occasion. He was a man of great native shrewdness and penetration. Above and beyond this was his clean life. From his youth he had observed strict and temperate habits. His conduct and profession were perfectly consistent, and the testimony to his goodness was, and is, both strong and general. In trying to diagnose his power to obsess, we must also take into account his inner consciousness, which was the outcome of his baptism of fire at New Quay. That he underwent a most agonizing soul struggle there can be no doubt. He felt the guiding, controlling and saving influences of the Holy Spirit. He refused to go to Cardiff; he declined to see many ministers and laymen; and he rested for a period of seven days—from February 23 to March 1, 1905—justifying himself on the ground that he was obeying the “voice from within.” It was the “voice” that he heard bidding him go to Loughor. On his arrival, he found that his brother Dan had been suffering considerably from defective eyesight, and had therefore been unable to work for some months. Evan told Dan, “Your eyes are now well: the Lord needs you.” Such a statement implies tremendous courage—such courage as David Morgan in 1859 never felt; but it shows the state of his personal active consciousness, and he succeeded in impressing this consciousness, not only upon his brother, but upon the public. It found response in sympathetic minds, and it was one of the secrets of his power with the masses. It created great expectations, and surrounded his name and person with a sort of mystic influence. And he was essentially a man of the mystic type. Again, his solemnity counted for much. Solemnity, whether real or assumed, always tells. Evan Roberts was heavy, mysterious, doleful and sometimes awful, and his awfulness gave him power over the people. This solemnity was more of an acquisition than a gift. He was always serious, yet cheerful, and even hopeful. This was his first mood, and it endeared him to many. During his first appearance he was a man of charming gentleness, unassuming, brotherly, and unconscious of his power to draw and to sway. A man of unquestionable wealth of heart. But he developed the austere and the turbulent. His voice became peremptory without being convincing. He began to lose his Christian temper; the priest drove out the prophet. The multitude and himself drifted apart, and the chasm widened. His authority waned, and the solemnity which was once a source of power became a weakness, The conviction was borne in upon us that he was merely solemn; his mind was shallow, even shallower than it appeared. The farther one looked into it, the less original or profound it was. As with himself, so with his broken sentences—mainly mere outbursts without depth, eloquence or moral force. Among the sources of his power to obsess lies the fact that he was the symbol of a dominant idea which was commonly held, and the fascination of which was generally felt, to the exclusion of every other idea, motive or interest. I mean the emotional idea. He did not generate it—did not control it. He was merely the symbol. The people looked to him as the Jews of old looked to the serpent in the wilderness. The Welsh nation is essentially emotional. It is claimed that it has gained in character and in intellect; but, as I have said before, it is still a mercurial nation. The mood is an ancient one; it is native to the soil, and is permanent. To be sad is a necessity of the Welshman’s nature. More than that, he is happy in his melancholy: he glories in its glamour, feeds upon it, and thrives through it. Even on the field of battle, while the Teuton talks of its glory, he will dwell upon its tragedy; if the Teuton sings the martial song, he too will sing—for song is part of his blood and life, of his heart and soul—but with this difference: he will sing something that shows the pathos of it all. It is his natural endowment, and has been granted him in a special measure. If you wish to understand Welsh civilization, you must take cognizance of this; otherwise, you will miss the one salient quality. The preaching that pleases or impresses him most is that aspect of it in which the tragic element predominates—the betrayal and the Cross. It is not so much a matter of theology as of temperament. Herein lies the secret of the enormous influence that the early Welsh preachers wielded over their countrymen. Preaching took the form of native disposition-—more so than to-day. Pulpit literature is cast mainly in this mould. Sermons dealing with the cardinal virtues—with veracity, sobriety, honour, integrity, and purity—did not receive proportionate attention either from the preacher or from the congregation. Such topics were not supposed to afford sufficient scope for the emotion. The Welsh nation is justly reputed to be an eminently religious nation. The reason is not far to seek. Religion is the best outlet for the pathos in the temperament; hence, the most popular hymns are in the minor key, the best poetry is of the melancholy kind, and the most satisfying sermons those that are founded upon “the Blood.” Welsh partiality, or Welsh passion, for religion is more allied to their temperament than to their goodness as a people; they are more religious than moral; and the form that fascinates most is the tragic. Nations, like individuals, have their moods and tenses. Even nature is subject to the same law. She does not always reciprocate our feelings. As with nature, so with men and nations; but there is one mood that I never miss in the Cymric race—the emotional. In its worship, its hymnology, and its festivals, the mood is there. Even on the marriage morn the sense of it is not far away. But there are high tides in its history—intermittent periods, when the waters come in with a mighty rush, overflowing the banks. The intervals are irregular: the periods vary from twenty to a hundred years. Between the outbreak of 1884 and that of 1904 there are twenty years; between that of 1859 and that of 1884 there are twenty-five years. Rumblings of the coming storm were heard in the spring of 1904, and even in the autumn of 1903. The nation seemed as if preparing for a great lamentation. It was fast passing beyond its ordinary traditional mood. It longed to give vent to its pent-up feelings. There was only one thing lacking—the psychic man who knew how to tap the mood. True, the nation desired that good might come to it, but it was pre-eminently a matter of temperament. So great was the tension that relief had to come; and it came, first at New Quay, Newcastle Emlyn, and in other parts of the country; then the high tide flowed in. Evan Roberts appeared at the psychological moment, and at once became its recognized symbol. He stood in the breach, and was regarded as the concrete embodiment of the emotion that dominated the people. There are other such figures in history. Henry George is one. He awakened enthusiasm and gained affection in virtue of the fact that he focussed the yearnings and longings of a certain class. Mrs. Pankhurst is another typical instance. If she had appeared fifty years back, and said the same things, she would be grotesque for the reason that the idea had not then entered its psychological climate. To-day it has, and in virtue of that fact she has been able to obsess a large number of British men and women. You can no more remove her obsession by fines and imprisonments, by invective and regular wit, than the Pope could crush the modernist movement within the Roman Catholic Church by the issue of his two famous manifestoes, the ‘Syllabus Lamentabili’ and the ‘Encyclical Pascendi’. Ours is a curious society. We free the blacks, and give them votes; we free white women, but deny them the privilege to which their liberty entitles them. We accuse them of no vice: we do not say that they are thieves, or drunkards, or profligates. The black vote cannot turn the scale, for they are in the minority; but as white women outnumber white men by three to one, we are afraid. General Booth is another example of the same psychological fact. The driving force of his personality will last as long as a single fascinated follower is left. The modernist movement in the Roman Catholic Church is longing for the coming of its Luther—the man who will embody its ideal aim—the man who will become the symbol of that overmastering passion for autonomy of conscience and liberty of intellect. All through Catholic Christendom priests and laity alike desire to study the disclosures of scientific investigation in the light of civilization instead of the dim and bewildering gloom of medieval obscurantism. It is the old story of the potency of one absorbing thought. The questions have been asked, “Was Evan Roberts inspired? Was his spiritual horizon wider and clearer than that of the saints of his age? “ Let us consider, first of all, what we mean by inspiration, for no word has been more misemployed. By ancient and modern usage, inspiration has been credited to certain individuals who wrote and spoke as they were moved by the Holy Ghost. The impulse of inspiration is moral, not intellectual. It is of the soul, not of the mind, and must be in accord with the laws of the activity of the soul. When the soul’s action is at its height and its best, then its vision is clearest, and its grasp of the truth the strongest. It is of the essence of inspiration that the soul may have a vision of a great truth the inner significance of which it may not comprehend, and the ultimate effects of which it may not foresee. Inspiration does not necessarily imply foreknowledge of the glorious issue of the sacrifice; but Evan Roberts said that he knew what the Revival would bring forth. He had asked for a hundred thousand souls, and he claimed to have seen the Saviour hand His Father a cheque with this figure. It is stated by those who have tabulated the results that the number of converts reached this figure. Evan Roberts claimed to know who were sinners and who were not. He also claimed to foresee results, This the people called “inspiration.” What is the authority that shall decide which men are inspired and which are not? There is no external decision possible. No newspaper, no synod, no Presbytery, can determine; not even the Church can attach the label of inspiration to any revivalist, or book, or movement with the certainty that it will adhere. The only court of appeal is the Christian consciousness. When it has spoken, there is nothing left but to register its decree. But it so happens that the decree of the Christian consciousness is often anticipated or unduly constrained by denominational, social, ecclesiastical or newspaper pressure. There does not exist a more despicable creature than he who takes advantage of the holiest feelings of others in order to further the interests of sect or to secure gain, whether that gain be in the form of money, or prestige, or power. As to the inspiration, the capacity to inspire is the evidence of inspiration. This, indeed, is its function. The inspiration of Christ was not in His prayers or His teaching, but in the activity evoked by His presence among those who saw Him and communed with Him. I do not think it possible for a man who is inspired to fail to inspire others sooner or later in some way. Many inspired men have failed personally; that is, by the power of personality. Their inspiration of others has been affected by the teaching that they gave. This teaching has often been effected after their removal from the world. In the popular mind influence is often confounded with inspiration. Inspiration is the communication of ideas or conceptions of truth from a supernatural source. Influence is the effect produced either by individual character or the power of some truth. Thus it is that some inspired men influence others by their personalities, and others by the truth they teach. No man can attain to spirituality except through inspiration, either his own or that of another. Spirituality is the product of inspiration. The old theologians spoke of ordinary inspiration or ordinary spiritual influence, and of extraordinary inspiration. The first was accredited to all fairly good people, and the second was considered as applying exclusively to the writers of the Bible. According to the teaching of the “New Theology,” all who feel the “inbreathing “—the Divine influence prompting and leading them—are inspired, and that is the only sense in which the term or idea must be taken. If we accept the conception of the “New Theology” regarding the essence and meaning of inspiration, then undoubtedly Evan Roberts was inspired. But if we fall back upon the old theology for our interpretation of inspiration, Evan Roberts was not inspired. That he possessed a high grade of spiritual excellence there can be no doubt. A few English friends—ministers and laymen who saw, heard and spoke to him—declared it to be their conviction that Evan Roberts’s spirituality was higher both in degree and in intensity than that of other ministers and Christian people. So to the influence of his personality they, therefore, attributed the origin, growth and spread of the Revival. But I believe that enough evidence has been produced in this book, to show to those whose only desire is to get at the facts of the case, that Evan Roberts had no controlling or constructive influence over the real Revival; and by the real Revival I mean not the rubbish, of which there were truck-loads, but the magnificent radium within. This radium was the resultant of spiritual forces that had been quietly at work for some years. These forces found a wonderful and simultaneous expression in many parts of Wales, and were in some parts rightly, and in other parts wrongly, used at the time of crisis. Seemingly, at any rate, Evan Roberts was to my mind the embodiment of the latter, and was out of touch with the former. Moody promptly suppressed every symptom of hysteria. Even Charles Wesley actually notified his congregation in more than one instance that anyone who was convulsed should be carried out. The intimation was enough. No one was carried out, for no one was convulsed. On the contrary, Evan Roberts encouraged indirectly, if not directly, the waves of hysteria that usually passed over his congregation. In fact, these psychic manifestations were looked upon as necessary adjuncts to a successful meeting, and became at last, in the estimation of the press and the public, the characteristic marks of the Revival. He did not appear to believe in the acceptability of his message. He came to meet the people as if he were convinced that they did not want to hear the truth. The elemental fact in all true revivals is that men are anxious to hear the Divine message. But Evan Roberts was moody, erratic, critical. The people were better than he seemed to think they were. This was one of the tragedies of the Revival. His view of human nature was unkind and often unjust. His mind was bound by conventional conceptions, more felt than understood; his outlook was blighted by the tenets of a severe theology which he had inherited, but the essence and application of which he did not understand. Revivalists and evangelists seldom if ever take a kindly view of human nature. Indeed, with a few notable exceptions, both past and present, the pulpit takes a harder view of human nature than does the pew. Those who have mixed up with the great masses of the people are impressed with their kindness one to another, and with the thoughtful consideration that underlies their judgments of the transgressions of their fellows. The pulpit, itself weak and full of infirmities, with its intellectual outlook narrower and the level of its spirituality lower than many of the men and women it addresses, lacks in sympathy and discrimination. Sin in the sense of wilful transgression is not so omnipresent as the pulpit declares it to be. Good often outweighs ill. There is more sorrow for sin, and more remorse for conscious ills, and secret consuming penitence for past misdeeds, than has ever been registered in the logbooks of the churches. There are many sinners who are nothing worse than the outlets of elemental sins which have their origin in the strata of human society. There are many thoughts and many passions other than his own in the guilt and misfortune of the criminal or unfortunate. He or she is bearing his or her share openly in the sight of the world, while the contributory causes are unseen and unrecognized. Of all the legacies which Christ left there is none greater, and yet none so little applied in practical life, than discriminating justice. He never failed to differentiate between those who did and those who did not deliberately violate obligations and principles which they knew to be Divine. His attitude towards the sinful was not governed by a bitter and merciless spirit. There is no exaggerated condemnation in His utterances, for the reason that His judgment was tempered with compassion. Great was His passion for righteousness, equally great was His sense of judgment, but neither overshadowed His discrimination. That always had its due place in His estimate of guilt. He would have moral thoroughness combined with intellectual thoroughness. He arraigned every soul, yes, and the whole of every soul. There was to be neither excess of sentiment nor of justice. Sometimes the strain of this contradiction in human estimates is intense. There were twelve apostles, but only one of them was possessed of the devil, and the proportion of good is greater among our congregations than the proportion of evil. Human nature is more wholesome than one would gather from the tragic and sensational utterances of evangelist and revivalist. To browbeat the people into a confession of crude and frightful sins, and to create moral sensibility by lurid pictures of human society, finds no response in anything Jesus did or said. If the mind of Christ is to dominate and to regulate our attitude, the whole trend of clerical thinking on this matter will have to be recast. As to the judgment passed upon the Revival and the Revivalist by certain Englishmen, there is this criticism to make:—When men come from a cold, matter-of-fact Saxon atmosphere into a warm Celtic atmosphere, at a time of spiritual crisis among a people always at home in the kingdom of religion, it is not surprising if they are carried away by the enthusiasm of the moment. One of the most interesting, as well as the most distressing, phases of the Revival was the inordinate desire of foreigners and men of other nationalities—journalists, laymen, and ministers—to give their views of the Revival to the world. They would come, spend twenty-four hours at various meetings, shake hands and converse with Evan Roberts, then rush back to London or Paris, to be met on their way by eager reporters at Cardiff station, when, with a grave and an infallible air, they would express their opinion for publication. In a few days or weeks they would give the same opinions to their congregations and to the world in the form of addresses, pamphlets and articles; and by thousands of people outside the Principality such views were accepted as final, full and authoritative. In the first place, an Englishman is very largely incapacitated by temperament, and by effects of environment, to understand a Welsh Revival. Secondly, a thorough acquaintance with the Revival of 1904—5 brings with it humility, deliberation and godly fear. But there were thousands of blind worshippers all over Wales, who, not only believed that Evan Roberts bore a distinctive spiritual class-mark that set him forth as more excellent in his grip of God and of the truth than the best among the saints and the preachers, but who actually did believe (and they acted and lived under the belief) that he was inspired in the old-theology sense of the word. Such a chasm, they thought, existed between the Revivalist and the highest order of sainthood to be found in the pulpit and the Church, that he had become to them the best and highest modern counterpart of early inspiration. Evan Roberts never said that he looked upon himself in this light. What was passing in his own inner consciousness is sealed up until the last day. It is sacred ground. Into his motives and self-suggestions God forbid that we should enter. When, however, we descend into the region of methods, we are entitled to a larger freedom. They seemed on the whole to give colour to the conclusions of the multitude. By his methods I mean his pronounced emotional sensibility, his weeping and wailing, his predictions as to individual results, his seven days’ silence and seclusion, his refusal to go to Cardiff, and even to show himself or speak a word to the thousands that congregated at Newcastle-Emlyn on that memorable Sunday, when men and women had travelled long distances on the strength of the announcement that he would be there, for the expressed reason that “the Spirit” had not given him any message, and that “the Spirit“ forbade him. When asked at Zion Chapel, Cwmavon, to state in English what he had previously uttered in Welsh, he replied that “the Spirit” did not permit him to do so. If this is not “extraordinary inspiration,” in the old-theology sense, what else does it imply? “I speak as the Spirit prompts me,” he used to say. Again, he often spoke in these terms: “I have read some of your faces: I can see what you want.” “Some of you have received the Spirit’s blessing and lost it.” It was not necessary that Evan Roberts should tell explicitly that be believed he was inspired in the old-theology sense. The implication was sufficient. Instead of calling out the highest, it called out the lowest in the Celtic nature—superstition. At Caerphilly he appealed to some of those present at the meeting to leave; and because there was no response, he himself left, The pressure apparently was great. Inasmuch as he had gone, there was a disposition to break up the meeting; but someone called out, “Is it to be Evan Roberts or Jesus Christ? “ It is sad to relate, but in the interest of truth it must be said, that the man who put this question had his finger on the pulse of the populace. Then, the fact that Evan Roberts assumed concrete knowledge of a lost soul at the Tabernacle meeting, at Cwmavon, would presuppose inspiration, and inspiration of the exalted and superhuman kind. I am now dealing with facts that have been verified and can be confirmed. So there is something, indeed much, in condonation of even superstitious people for a belief that had become part of their very thoughts and feelings. There was plenty of hypnotic sensibility abroad in those days, and sufficient material for suggestion to do its perfect work. Dreams, religious and otherwise, were registered by the score. Any untoward incident, or any prophetic utterance, or any mysterious move on the part of the evangelist, was exalted into the region of the miraculous. But their temperamental origin can no longer be disputed. Regarded in the light of present facts, how does Evan Roberts stand? What is the general significance of his particular work? His methods, what of them? Have they proved wise and been declared sterling? What is the legacy that he has left us as a people? As his image appears to our memory, what does that image bring with it? There are Welshmen in the realm of poetry, literature, politics, and religion who have long since laid aside the armour and the breastplate, but whose names quicken our remembrance, enrich our imagination, and rouse our enthusiasm. They have stood the severest tests, and have not been found wanting. Their ideals are our realities. The verdict of their contemporaries may have been modified through closer scrutiny and a larger vision; but the bloom and the sweetness remain, to soothe and to invigorate. The old Welsh religious chieftains who communicated their impulse to all within their reach are still fresh in the memory of the nation, not as dead comrades, but as living factors inspiring us to study their genius and to emulate their zeal. They were men of great passionate hearts and high moral elevation. Is there anything to keep the memory of Evan Roberts in remembrance? —any cardinal elements in the teaching of our Lord that he preserved for religion? —any organization that owes its inauguration and its permanence to his initiative or influence? —any doctrine that he taught, and is likely to be an addition to the abiding forces of Welsh religious life? Did he tell us anything we did not know? Did he enshrine any old truths in those inevitable and convincing phrases that burn themselves into the deathless memory of a nation? Did he come to the rescue of anything in Welsh religious and social life which, at the moment, was threatened with extinction? —some fact of the human soul or some elemental passion? I know of none. Again, are his footprints still in the furrows? Is his voice still in the air? Is he an authority on anything? No, he is not. Moody has been dead for nine years, but his great schools at Northfield still move on with ever-increasing success. Large amounts of money are still being raised for the support of the colleges, and applicants for admission may be counted by the thousands. But in looking back at the Welsh Revival of 1904—5 we find that its success is by no means commensurate with its proportion, with its excitement at the time, with its professed statistics of individual or collective results, or even with the money expended upon it. The churches have been thrown back upon simpler ideas and methods. How does he stand in comparison with men of his own school—Howell Harris, David Morgan, Humphrey Jones, and Richard Owen? Is there anything that differentiates him from them? When David Morgan started out in 1859, he had not the same degree of self-confidence that Evan Roberts possessed. David Morgan was weak and fearful. He sheltered in the personality of Humphrey Jones. His faith in God was strong; but he lacked self-assurance. Humphrey Jones was a preacher amongst the Wesleyans. He had emigrated to the United States, where he witnessed the Revival that broke out in that country in the year 1857. That Revival crossed the Atlantic, traversed the North of Ireland in 1858, covered Wales in 1859, and then made its way into England, where its influence was felt all through 1860 and 1861. Humphrey Jones returned to Wales, and as he longed to witness in his native land what he had witnessed in America, he devoted his time to address professing Christians upon the need of greater consecration. He met David Morgan, of Ysbytty, with whom he exchanged views on matters appertaining to religion and the state of the churches. David Morgan heard Humphrey Jones preach on the words, “Woe to them that are at ease in Zion,” and saw men and women bowing and weeping. The spark kindled into a flame, and the Revival of 1859 was on its wings. David Morgan was at once aroused, and began to hold prayer-meetings and to converse with inquirers. Like Evan Roberts, Humphrey Jones was a great believer in prayer, and began his public work at the same age—twenty-six. Also, like Evan Roberts, he was laid aside in the midst of his labours. He suffered greatly from mental depression and physical exhaustion. He went into seclusion, and observed strict silence for a considerable period. During his retreat he changed his views with regard to revival methods; and though repeatedly urged by his own denomination to leave his retreat, and take his part again in public worship and evangelistic work, he declined. Most of his time was spent in private prayer. But David Morgan continued the work of an evangelist after the Revival wave had subsided, and remained the same humble, companionable man that he was during the height of the Revival. David Morgan made it a rule to deliver a brief address at the Revival meetings and to offer prayer at the close. During the meeting he might be seen descending from the pulpit in order to comfort or to persuade some sorrowful, struggling soul, and even to pray for them by name. Evan Roberts was more erratic: whether he would speak first or last, or at all, or whether he would even remain until the close of the meeting, no one knew. David Morgan exalted the preacher, and invited him to share in the reaping. Thus the reaper and the sower stood side by side, shedding tears of joy as the sheaves were garnered. This was a feature that was missing in the Revival of 1904—5. Though it was in heart and actuality a Revival of men—a democratic Revival, a burning protest against priestcraft and officialism in religion, yet a bold and systematic effort was made to convert it into a one-man Revival, for sectarian and denominational ends. This was one of the fatal defects, and it helped to kill what otherwise might have been an impetus to reverence, peace and vital religion in the land for years to come. Among the most striking services that David Morgan rendered to the cause of religion and to the peace of the churches was that he visited the different counties, and invited the co-operation of the ministers and leading Christian laymen who lived in those localities, without regard to sect or creed. It was during that Revival that Dr. Owen Thomas became famous as a preacher. Dr. Henry Rees, Dr. Lewis Edwards of Bala, and the Rev. W Ambrose of Portmadoc, participated in the outbreak of 1859. There was no attempt at making that Revival a one-man movement, and it was due to the attitude of David Morgan himself. The Revival of 1859 resulted in the erection of many new chapels. It was the direct cause of the increase of settled pastors among the Calvinistic Methodists. There followed a revival of interest in the Welsh language. Dr. Lewis Edwards’s work on the “Atonement” was written during that period. The impression prevails that Dr. Thomas Charles Edwards, Dr. Herber Evans, and the Rev. John Evans, of Eglwysbach, were the offspring of the Revival of 1859. But this is not so, for these had commenced to preach in 1857, two years previously. One peculiarity of the Revival of 1882—84 was that the results invariably coincided with the appearance and preaching of Richard Owen. There were no conversions except through his instrumentality. But the conversions in the chapels attended by Evan Roberts were fewer than in the chapels where he was not present. An attempt has been made to account for this strange phenomena by attributing his non-success to the want of preparation on the part of the members worshipping in those particular chapels; but there is no ground for this imputation. Exhaustive inquiries have been made, with the result that there are dozens of instances which prove the fact that in the chapels visited by Evan Roberts prayer-meetings had been held nightly for months, and the power of the Revival felt, and conversions recorded; yet, in the majority of cases his appearance had a dispiriting effect. Many were converted who had neither seen nor heard Evan Roberts; and some of the most successful meetings were held in the districts and towns to which Evan Roberts had refused to go on the ground that the Holy Spirit had not given him any message for them. For a case in point, I need only refer to the Tabernacle Baptist Church on the Hayes, Cardiff, of which the Rev. Charles Davies is the pastor, whose spirituality may not be so intense as that of Evan Roberts, but is more real and lasting. In originality, force of character, command of courage, independence, and lofty disdain of committees and bodyguards, and above all uniformity of success, Richard Owen towers above both David Morgan and Evan Roberts. He is the Saul among the brethren in the Revival world. But Evan Roberts’s fame will be quite as enduring because he is more elusive; arid because he is more elusive he will provide the future historian with interesting material. His complex character presents a series of apparently irreconciled and irreconcilable contrasts. We can compass Richard Owen, Humphrey Jones and David Morgan; we know where to find and how to measure them: their personalities are well defined ; but the moment we touch Evan Roberts, he eludes us. He is here, and he is gone. With what, therefore, will his name be linked? It will not be linked with eloquence, with erudition, with knowledge, or with any great truth. Evan Roberts will count for nothing in hymnody, for nothing in the pulpit or the pastoral life of our churches. His mission did not produce a reversion to a higher type of reverence or moral life. The converse is true. There abides no monument, no institution, no permanent spiritual ardour of this or of any coming generation. But there is one priceless legacy that he left for his nation and for his God—his personal character. That he left unsullied in his boyhood and manhood in the midst of danger and temptation; it was tried in the furnace of a tumultuous and world-known Revival—a Revival almost unparalleled for its fierceness and conflicting effects—a Revival that gave him a name and a fame which must have tested the dual claims of both ambition and aspiration; yet he proved true, and his character stands sterling by the common consent of the people. He had his moods, like the rest of mortals. He had his methods, as we have ours. Such methods did undoubtedly repel not a few, and hardened rather than softened the hearts of some who longed for a higher life. There were inexplicable mysteries in his romantic career that we could not attempt to analyze without entering upon the sacred domain of motive; but that domain, thank Heaven, still remains the private ground of Him who alone is able to count our bones, measure our blood, and weigh our soul’s in the scale of His infinite justice. But Evan Roberts gave us his character—the most eminent of his possessions. He had his visions—he saw an arm projecting out of the moon; he saw a person dressed in white, with a glittering sword in his hand, striking the devil until he fled and vanished. I do not believe that these visions had any objective reality; but that such illusions are facts within his own self-consciousness there can be no doubt. What would not the angels give if, only for the period of a brief moment, they could feel the passions of man, which are the tragic realities of life? And what man is there who would not give much that he might experience the mental illusions associated with Evan Roberts? There are cases when the insane have laboured under the impression that they were the Third Person in the Trinity. The belief of the consciousness lasted for years, and only lost its grip upon them when they were confronted by other inmates who claimed a prior right to the same honour. Then the obsession passed; but while it lasted, how ineffably grand and glorious must have been the incursions of that mind in the realm of the spiritworld! Such mental uprushes had no objective reality; but what must it have been to have such extraordinary consciousness, however unreal and brief in its duration! Mr. Evan Roberts has lived to see the nation sink deep into its normal condition, and in some senses even a worse condition. He has lived to see the churches as a whole drift back into the old groove, wearing the same garments, speaking the same old language in the same tone, without passion and without conviction. He has also lived to see many of his converts, some of them the most striking among the records of the Revival, go back, tired of their new home, and, as Rudyard Kipling puts it, “Oft to the sties afresh.” This is an experience common to the most eminent and successful of reformers. But his labour has not been altogether in vain, for there are many who still remain to bear witness to the fact that through his instrumentality they gave themselves over to the new life. There is one vision at least of whose objective reality there can be no doubt: the ideal abides. The vision was that of a man young in years, who, in the declining months of 1904, went through a rebirth of spiritual passion, and who girded himself for one brave resolute grapple with the powers of evil, with the best of books in his hands, the law of truth written upon his lips, the world behind his back, proclaiming the great apostolic note of warning and of appeal.