We can very well believe that much in his speech that was unforgettable to others, he forgot himself.  They remembered, they could not help remembering, what he said; but he—­no! he said it and moved on, keeping no register of his sayings; and so much the more natural and characteristic they are.  Nor would he, like smaller people, be very careful of the form and turn of his speech; it was never set.  Certainly he gave his followers the rule not to study their language (Mark 13:11).  Whether or no he had consciously thought it all out; we can see the value of his rule, and how it fits in with his way of life and safeguards it.  Under such a rule speech will not be stereotyped; no set form of words will impose itself on the free movement of thought, the mind can and will move of itself unhampered; and when the mind keeps and develops such freedom of movement, it commonly breaks new ground and handles new things.  Not to be careful of our speech means for most of us slovenly thinking; but when a man thinks in earnest and takes truth seriously, when he speaks with his eye on his object, his language will not be slovenly, his instinct for fact will keep his speech pure and true.  This is what we find in the sayings of Jesus; there is form, but living form, the freedom and grace which the clear mind and the friendly eye communicate insensibly and inimitably to language.

Our task in this chapter is primarily a historical one.  From the words of Jesus we have to work back to the type of mind from which they come.  There is always danger in such a task.  We may forget the wide and living variety of the mind we study; our own minds may not be large enough, nor tender enough, not various, quick and sympathetic in such a degree as to apprehend what we find, to see what it means, and to relate it to itself, detail to whole.  How much greater the danger here!  While we analyse, we have to remember that the most correct analysis of features or characteristics may easily fail to give us a true idea of the face or the character which we analyse.  The whole is more than the sum of its parts.  The face and the character have an “integrity,” a wholeness.  The detail may be of immense value to us, studied as detail; but for the true view the detail, familiar as it may be to us, and dear to us, must be sunk in the general view.  Especially is this true of great characters.  The “reconstruction of a personality”—­to borrow a phrase from some psychologists—­is a very difficult matter, even when we are masters of our detail.  There is a proportion, a perspective, a balance, a poise about a character—­my terms may involve some mixture of metaphors, but if the mixture brings out the complexity and difficulty of our task, it will be justified.  Above all there is life, and as a life deepens and widens, it grows complex, unintelligible, and wonderful.  It is more so than ever in the case of Jesus.  Yet we have to grapple with this great task, if we are to know him, even if here as elsewhere we realize quickly that the beginning of real knowledge is when we grasp how much we do not know, how much there is to know.  Attempted in this spirit, a study of the mind of Jesus and his characteristics should help us forward to some further intimacy with him.