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Abigail's Character
1. Abigail was a woman of good understanding.-The Abigail of whom we obtain so engaging a portrait is introduced to us as “a woman of good understanding, and of a beautiful countenance.” After this passing remark, it is perhaps characteristic of the inspired writer that the narrative pays no further attention to the beauty of countenance, and does not even allow us to think that David was influenced in his wooing by the fairness of the face, but proceeds to illustrate in a tale of singular vividness and power the attraction of wisdom and mental ability in a woman. The prudence and address of Abigail saved the life of her worthless husband, and all the servants of his large establishment; and even ordinary women in everyday life do more than they know when they make peace. “Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.”
Dr. Wilson's intense dislike of personal strife and unpleasantness often inclined him to give up his own rights in a way that suggested weakness. He chose to be the anvil rather than the hammer. By so doing he gained the blessedness of the peacemaker, and often his own wishes into the bargain.1 [Note: James Wells, The Life of James Hood Wilson, 429.]
There is not a war in the world, no, nor an injustice, but you women are answerable for it; not in that you have provoked, but in that you have not hindered. Men, by their nature, are prone to fight; they will fight for any cause, or for none. It is for you to choose their cause for them, and to forbid them when there is no cause. There is no suffering, no injustice, no misery, in the earth, but the guilt of it lies with you. Men can bear the sight of it, but you should not be able to bear it. Men may tread it down without sympathy in their own struggle; but men are feeble in sympathy, and contracted in hope; it is you only who can feel the depths of pain, and conceive the way of its healing. Instead of trying to do this, you turn away from it; you shut yourselves within your park walls and garden gates; and you are content to know that there is beyond them a whole world in wilderness-a world of secrets which you dare not penetrate; and of suffering which you dare not conceive.1 [Note: Ruskin, Sesame and Lilies, § 91 (Works, xviii. 140).]
2. She was loyal.-One might have thought that the prospect of condign punishment falling on the man whom she could never have loved, and from whom she had probably received nothing but contumely, would have been not unwelcome to Abigail, especially when he had brought it on himself, and she was entirely unconcerned in the matter. But that was not her way. She was loyal to her husband none the less because he deserved no loyalty. It might be impossible for her to love him or respect him, but she could defend him, and stand between him and his own folly. As soon as she met David she proceeded at once to confess the fault that had been committed, the fault for which she made herself responsible: “Upon me, my lord, upon me be the, iniquity.”
It has often been regarded as a flaw in Abigail's character that she did not defend her husband against the charge of folly, but rather suggested that to David as an excuse for what had happened. But her one chance of saving Nabal was to repudiate him, and to show how hateful his conduct seemed even to her, his wife. Let David dismiss him from his thought, fool by name, fool by nature, an utterly insignificant creature, not worthy of his regard. Let his eyes rest on her. It was with her that he had to do. And she, the house-mistress, had not seen the young men when they came, so that she had not immediately been able to attend to their request. As she spoke, she saw that she had arrested the hand of the avenger; his anger was subsiding; he was at ready to listen and be convinced. Nabal and his people were saved.
Erasmus tells us that no man ever had a bad wife but from his own fault, that a good wife may be spoilt by a bad husband but that a bad wife is usually reformed by a good one. I should be inclined to reverse this statement so far as to respectfully suggest the alteration that the husband is the one more frequently converted by the chaste conversation of the wife. Who has not seen the spendthrift reformed to economy, the “screw” to liberality, the sceptic to faith, by his wife? The wife is more calm, considerate, tender, and patient. If the man is opposed or offended, his counsel is for open war and vengeance; the woman will hear explanations, will offer or accept apologies. If a servant forgets to post a letter, the master promptly informs him that he takes precedence over all the asses in Europe; the mistress “knows that he is sorry to have forgotten the letter, and must ask him to walk with a telegram to the station, two miles from the house.” She does not ridicule or vehemently condemn the first proposal of some thoughtless scheme; she does not retaliate the bitter words which have been uttered in an angry mood. She will only speak affectionately the argument which seems to her the simple truth and leave it, as she trusts, to germinate. For she learns to know her husband better than he knows himself, to discern the weakness and the strength; and so to lead him gently to the higher levels of his life.1 [Note: Dean Hole, Then and Now, 84.]
3. She was tactful.-Abigail is the ideal married woman of the Bible. Others had perhaps more heroic qualities, but she is the most essentially feminine of all the notable women of Scripture. She has what is possibly the most useful of all woman's gifts for life's common path. She has tact. There are but few women who are called, like Deborah, to lead their country's armies; or, like Jephthah's daughter, to die for their father's honour; but every one may imitate the womanly wisdom which is so conspicuous in the story of Abigail.
What is tact? It may be defined as that spiritual sensibility which instinctively knows not merely the right thing to say, but-what is much less common-when to say it and how to say it.
(1) Abigail possessed this quality in no ordinary degree. We see that suggested even by her handling of her husband, though in his case it seems to have been largely thrown away. Instead of attempting the apparently impossible task of bringing Nabal to a right way of thinking, she set off at once to meet David herself, and so protect her husband. Again, when she comes home and finds him intoxicated, she puts off her unpleasant news till the morning. She does her best to spare her husband, and it is not her fault if the result is a failure.
(2) But still more do we see Abigail's tact in her dealings with David. If ever woman was placed in a difficult position Abigail was, with her foolish husband on the one side and the infuriated outlaw on the other. Yet she carries through her task successfully. Not only does she gain her request, but she touches at once the conscience and the heart of her enemy. It is hard to tell a man he is doing wrong and yet keep him from taking offence at you. Yet that was what Abigail did. Her religion and her faith stood her in good stead.
The citizens of Glasgow always took a warm interest in the affairs of the training-ship Cumberland [which lay moored in the Clyde near Rosneath] and a grand annual entertainment was held on board, where the boys went through a number of exercises and displayed their various accomplishments, while their band played and a delighted audience of Glasgow and Gareloch spectators looked on, and some great lady afterwards presented prizes to such of the boys as had distinguished themselves. On one occasion the late philanthropist, Lord Shaftesbury, performed this duty, and horrified the audience by beginning his address to the boys in sonorous tones: “Boys of the Cumberland! you whom I may call the scum of the earth.”1 [Note: J. L. Story, Later Reminiscences, 97.]
Many people with the very best motives and intentions, and with truly large capacity for doing good, almost utterly fail of usefulness and throw their lives away because they lack the gift of tact. They perform their kindest deeds in such a way as to rob them of nearly all their power to comfort or cheer. They speak the wrong word, giving pain when they wanted to give pleasure. They make allusions to themes on which no word should be spoken. They are ever touching sensitive spots. When they enter a home of sorrow, drawn by the truest sympathy, they are almost sure to make tender hearts bleed the more by some want of fitness in word or act. Others may not have one whit more desire to be useful. Yet because of their peculiar and gentle tact they scatter gladness all about them, and are ever performing sweet ministries of good. Their thoughtfulness seems intuitively to understand just what will be the best word to speak or the kindest and fittest thing to do. Tact has a wonderful power in smoothing out tangled affairs. In the home it is a most indispensable oil. Quiet tact will always have the soft word ready to speak in time to turn away anger. It knows how to avoid unsafe ground. It can put all parties into a good humour when there is a danger of difference or clashing. It is silent when silence is better than speech.1 [Note: J. R. Miller, Week Day Religion, 162.]
4. Abigail was the instrument of the Lord.-The providence of God acts as a restraint on the wicked deeds of men; and in this case Abigail was instrumental in carrying out God's purposes, as the conclusion of the story shows.
(1) The power of sin was evidently held back by God. The ancient declaration, “I also withheld thee from sinning against me,” was, as it were, repeated to David in the providential dealings of God that day when, with drawn sword uplifted, he sought to destroy the house of Nabal; and the means employed to stop him and turn him back from the path of wrong-doing was destined to be the prudent and energetic Abigail. She pointed first of all to the leadings of God, by which David had been kept from committing murder through her coming to meet him. “As the Lord liveth, and as thy soul liveth, the Lord hath withholden thee from blood-guiltiness, and from avenging thyself with thine own hand.”
There is a saying that “if you wish to get to the sea, take a river for your guide.” You may not see the sea for a long time, and the river may wind this way and that, but, if you follow it, it will be sure to bring you to the ocean at last.2 [Note: J. S. Maver.]
From age to age, woman takes her place at the parting of temptation's ways, now urging on by way of the darker road, now with restraining hand holding back her wayward comrade. At one time she is Jezebel, or Lady Macbeth; at another time she is Abigail, or Pilate's wife. Now she incites the destroyer, now she encourages the deliverer. How many hands are stained because of her pride and also how many hands have been kept pure because of her goodness. Not only long ago may she have stood for the merciful restraints of Providence: but here to-day, in every national life, she may exercise her most womanly gifts to arrest the anger, the malice, the passion of revenge, from bursting into strife and war, from spreading havoc and ruin on fair spiritual growths!3 [Note: H. E. Lewis.]
(2) Abigail placed before David a high ideal for the future. By her promises of the rich blessings with which the Lord would recompense David, she gave such clear and distinct expression to her firm belief in the Divine election of David as king of Israel that her words almost amounted to prophecy. “For the Lord will certainly make my lord a sure house; because my lord fighteth the battles of the Lord; and evil shall not be found in thee all thy days.” Then followed the well-known words, full of deep meaning and pregnant with hope for the future: “The soul of my lord shall be bound in the bundle of life with the Lord thy God.” The metaphor is taken from the custom of binding up valuable things in a bundle to prevent their being injured. The words do not refer primarily to eternal life with God in heaven, but only to the safe preservation of the righteous on this earth in the grace and fellowship of the Lord. But whoever is so hidden in the gracious fellowship of the Lord in this life, that no enemy can harm him or injure his life, the Lord will not allow to perish, even though temporal death should come, but will then receive him into eternal life.
There was power in Abigail's argument derived from her appeal to David's sense of the wrong of revenge, and the assurance that his generous concern for his young men was now unnecessary. But that which evidently touched David most was her reference to his being the object of God's love and care. To be restrained by a loving God, to be in favour with Him amidst the wrongs of evil men, to have an interest in the higher spiritual life which is nourished and guarded by God, was more than all beside. How could one so richly and undeservedly blessed be revengeful or act in any way unworthy of the name of God? The Apostle adopts the same line of argument when he, enjoining a spirit of forgiveness, reminds his readers of the forgiveness they have received. If we would be humble, gentle, forgiving, and grateful, let us consider what it is to have our “names written in heaven” and to be the objects of a love from which nothing can separate us.
Elsewhere I have spoken of the nations of Europe as a hundred million pagans masquerading as Christians. Not unfrequently in private intercourse I have found myself trying to convert Christians to Christianity, but have invariably failed. The truth is that priests and people alike, while taking their nominal creed from the New Testament, take their real creed from Homer. Not Christ, but Achilles is their ideal. One day in the week they profess the creed of forgiveness, and six days in the week they inculcate and practise the creed of revenge. On Sunday they promise to love their neighbours as themselves, and on Monday treat with utter scorn any one who proposes to act out that promise in dealing with inferior peoples. Nay, they have even intensified the spirit of revenge inherited from barbarians. For, whereas the law between hostile tribes of savages is life for life, the law of the so-called civilized in dealing with savages is-for one life many lives. Not only do I feel perpetually angered by this hypocrisy which daily says one thing and does the opposite thing, but I also feel perpetually angered by it as being diametrically opposed to human progress; since all further advance depends on the decline of militancy and rise of industrialism. But what the great mass of the civilized peoples in their dealings with the uncivilized regard as glory I regard as shame.1 [Note: Life and Letters of Herbert Spencer, 400.]
If thou be dead, forgive and thou shalt live;
If thou hast sinned, forgive and be forgiven;
God waiteth to be gracious and forgive,
And open heaven.
Set not thy will to die and not to live;
Set not thy face as flint refusing heaven;
Thou fool, set not thy heart on hell: forgive
And be forgiven.2 [Note: C. G. Rossetti, Verses, 107.]
(3) If we blame David, as we must, for his heedless passion, we must not less admire the readiness with which he listened to the reasonable and pious counsel of Abigail. With the ready instinct of a gracious heart he recognized the hand of God in Abigail's coming-this mercy had a heavenly origin; and he cordially praised Him for His restraining providence and restraining grace. He candidly admitted that he had formed a very sinful purpose; but he frankly abandoned it, accepted her offering, and sent her away in peace. “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, which sent thee this day to meet me; and blessed be thy advice, and blessed be thou, which hast kept me this day from coming to shed blood, and from avenging myself with mine own hand.” It is a mark of sincere and genuine godliness to be not less thankful for being kept from sinning than for being rescued from suffering.
You cannot think that the buckling on of the knight's armour by his lady's hand was a mere caprice of romantic fashion. It is the type of an eternal truth-that the soul's armour is never well set to the heart unless a woman's hand has braced it; and it is only when she braces it loosely that the honour of manhood fails. Know you not those lovely lines-I would they were learned by all youthful ladies of England:
Ah, wasteful woman, she who may
On her sweet self set her own price,
Knowing he cannot choose but pay,
How has she cheapen'd Paradise;
How given for nought her priceless gift,
How spoiled the bread and spill'd the wine,
Which, spent with due, respective thrift,
Had made brutes men, and men divine!1 [Note: Ruskin, Sesame and Lilies, § 65 (Works, xviii. 120).]
(4) It was not long before David had convincing proof that it is best to leave vengeance in the hands of God. How frequently does this same providence of God appear surprising in its results. Injustice is always visibly requited still, and evil still works together with good. Early or later the Nabals receive their reward, even without the Davids requiring to become their own avengers; and the apparently fortuitous meeting with Abigail, to whose prudent counsel he gave heed, becomes immediately to the man after God's own heart a source of success in life. Thus God brings out of darkness light, out of sin a higher step of virtue, out of confusion order; and this is the masterpiece of His wisdom, that, without preventing evil by force, He leaves men relatively free, but not the less incessantly keeps back the sinner on his perverted way, and weaves our unconstrained action as a thread in the web of His scheme of the universe.
Returning from a meeting on one occasion, James Taylor was accosted by a couple of men who appeared to be friendly. Engaged in conversation with one of them, he did not notice the movements of the other, who suddenly rubbed into his eyes a mixture of pounded glass and mud calculated to blind him for life. Sightless and in desperate pain Taylor was wholly at their mercy, and there is no knowing what might have happened had not Joseph Beckett, coming down Church Street at the time, hastened to his assistance. Seeing the magistrate the ruffians made off, but not before Mr. Beckett had recognized one of them, a professed infidel and no friend to the Methodists in Barnsley. Poor Taylor was taken home in great suffering, and it was fully three months before he could return to work again. His employer urged him to take out a summons, having himself witnessed the occurrence. But James would not hear of it.
“No,” he said, “the Lord is well able to deal with them. I would rather leave it in His hands.”
This did not satisfy the magistrate, however, who decided to carry the prosecution through on his own account. In the witness-box the culprit denied the charge, calling upon God to strike him blind if he had anything to do with the outrage. Shortly after, all Barnsley knew that he had lost his sight. For the rest of his life he had to be led by a dog through the familiar streets, and ultimately sank into extreme poverty. His accomplice also was obliged to confess that nothing ever prospered with him from the time of their cruel attack upon James Taylor.1 [Note: Hudson Taylor in Early Years, 13.]