I had no instantaneous corresponding sense that it was my duty to follow this call.  I was (I will confess it) a little dazzled; but, as soon as that wore off, I felt an indescribable reluctance to undertake the task, a consciousness of not being equal to it, a strong sense that I was intended for other things.

I don’t mean to say that there was not much that was attractive about the offer in a superficial way.  It meant money, power, position, and consequence—­all good things, and good things which I unreservedly like.  I am like every one else in that respect; I should like a large house, and a big income, and professional success, and respect and influence as much as any one—­more, indeed, than many people.

But I soon saw that this would be a miserable reason for being tempted by the offer, the delight of being called Rabbi.  I don’t pretend to be high-minded, but even I could see that, unless there was a good deal more than that in my mind, I should be a wretched creature to be influenced by such considerations.  These are merely the conveniences; the real point was the work, the power, the possibility of carrying out certain educational reforms which I have very much at heart, and doing something towards raising the general intellectual standard, which I believe to be lower than it need be.

Now, on thinking it out carefully, I came to the conclusion that I was not strong enough for this role.  I am no Atlas; I have no deep store of moral courage; I am absurdly sensitive, ill-fitted to cope with unpopularity and disapproval.  Bitter, vehement, personal hostility would break my spirit.  A fervent Christian might say that one had no right to be faint-hearted, and that strength would be given one; that is perfectly true in certain conditions, and I have often experienced it when some intolerable and inevitable calamity had to be faced.  But it is an evil recklessness not to weigh one’s own deficiencies.  No one would say that a man ignorant of music ought to undertake to play the organ, if the organist failed to appear, believing that power would be given him.  Christ Himself warned His disciples against embarking in an enterprise without counting the cost.  But here I confess was the darkest point of my dilemma—­was it cowardice and indolence to refuse to attempt what competent persons believed I could do? or was it prudent and wise to refuse to attempt what I, knowing my own temperament better, felt I could not attempt successfully?

Now in my present work it is different.  I know that my strength is equal to the responsibility; I know that I can do what I undertake.  The art of dealing with boys is very different from the art of dealing with men, the capacity for subordinate command is very different from the capacity for supreme command.  Of course, it is a truism to say that if a man can obey thoroughly and loyally he can probably command.  But then, again, there is a large class of people, to which I believe myself to belong, who are held to be, in the words of Tacitus, Capax imperii, nisi imperasset.