Preface

2 min

AT the present hour, when fiction takes forms so ingenious and so specious, it is perhaps necessary to say that the following narrative, in all its parts, and so far as the punctilious attention of the writer has been able to keep it so, is scrupulously true. If it were not true, in this strict sense, to publish it would be to trifle with all those who may be induced to read it. It is offered to them as a document, as a record of educational and religious conditions which, having passed away, will never return. In this respect, as the diagnosis of a dying Puritanism, it is hoped that the narrative will not be altogether without significance.

Today, when fiction takes such ingenious and convincing forms, it is perhaps necessary to say that this narrative is true in every part. I have taken meticulous care to keep it strictly true. If it were not true in this strict sense, publishing it would be a betrayal of anyone persuaded to read it. I offer it to them as a document, a record of educational and religious conditions that have passed away and will never return. As an account of a dying Puritanism, I hope the narrative will have some significance.

It offers, too, in a subsidiary sense, a study of the development of moral and intellectual ideas during the progress of infancy. These have been closely and conscientiously noted, and may have some value in consequence of the unusual conditions in which they were produced. The author has observed that those who have written about the facts of their own childhood have usually delayed to note them down until age has dimmed their recollections. Perhaps an even more common fault in such autobiographies is that they are sentimental, and are falsified by self-admiration and self-pity. The writer of these recollections has thought that if the examination of his earliest years was to be undertaken at all, it should be attempted while his memory is still perfectly vivid and while he is still unbiased by the forgetfulness or the sensibility of advancing years.

It also offers, in a secondary way, a study of how moral and intellectual ideas develop in early childhood. These ideas were recorded closely and carefully. The record may have some value because of the unusual conditions in which the ideas developed. The author has noticed that people who write about their own childhood usually wait until age has dimmed their memories. Perhaps an even more common fault in such autobiographies is sentimentality. Self-admiration and self-pity distort the accounts. The writer of these recollections thought that if he was to examine his earliest years at all, he should do so while his memory was still perfectly vivid. He should also do it while he was still free from the forgetfulness or heightened emotion that comes with advancing years.

At one point only has there been any tampering with precise fact. It is believed that, with the exception of the Son, there is but one person mentioned in this book who is still alive. Nevertheless, it has been thought well, in order to avoid any appearance of offence, to alter the majority of the proper names of the private persons spoken of.

The exact facts have been altered in only one respect. Apart from the Son, only one person mentioned in this book is believed to be still alive. Nevertheless, to avoid any appearance of giving offence, most of the names of private individuals have been changed.

It is not usual, perhaps, that the narrative of a spiritual struggle should mingle merriment and humour with a discussion of the most solemn subjects. It has, however, been inevitable that they should be so mingled in this narrative. It is true that most funny books try to be funny throughout, while theology is scandalized if it awakens a single smile. But life is not constituted thus, and this book is nothing if it is not a genuine slice of life. There was an extraordinary mixture of comedy and tragedy in the situation which is here described, and those who are affected by the pathos of it will not need to have it explained to them that the comedy was superficial and the tragedy essential.

Perhaps it is unusual for an account of a spiritual struggle to mix laughter and humor with discussions of solemn subjects. Yet in this account, the mixture was unavoidable. Most funny books try to be funny throughout, while theology is shocked if it raises even one smile. But life is not like that, and this book is nothing if it is not a genuine slice of life. The situation described here involved an extraordinary mixture of comedy and tragedy. Those who are moved by its sadness will not need to be told that the comedy was superficial and the tragedy lay at its heart.

September 1907