(328) Competition
At this time neither Gibbie nor Donal strove against his creation—what the wise of this world call their fate. In truth Gibbie never did; and for Donal, the process was at present in a stage much too agreeable to rouse any inclination to resist. He enjoyed his new phase of life immensely. If he did not distinguish himself as a scholar, it was not because he neglected his work, but because he was at the same time doing that by which alone the water could ever rise in the well he was digging: he was himself growing. Far too eager after knowledge to indulge in emulation, he gained no prizes: what had he to do with how much or how little those around him could eat as compared with himself? No work noble or lastingly good can come of emulation any more than of greed: I think the motives are spiritually the same. To excite it is worthy only of the commonplace vulgar schoolmaster, whose ambition is to show what fine scholars he can turn out, that he may get the more pupils. Emulation is the devil-shadow of aspiration. The set of the current in the schools is at present towards a boundless swamp, but the wise among the scholars see it, and wisdom is the tortoise which shall win the race. In the mean time how many, with the legs and the brain of the hare, will think they are gaining it, while they are losing things whose loss will make any prize unprized! The result of Donal’s work appeared but very partially in his examinations, which were honest and honourable to him; it was hidden in his thoughts, his aspirations, his growth, and his verse—all which may be seen should I one day tell Donal’s story. For Gibbie, the minister had not been long teaching him, before he began to desire to make a scholar of him. Partly from being compelled to spend some labour upon it, the boy was gradually developing an unusual facility in expression. His teacher, compact of conventionalities, would have modelled the result upon some writer imagined by him a master of style; but the hurtful folly never got any hold of Gibbie: all he ever cared about was to say what he meant, and avoid saying something else; to know when he had not said what he meant, and to set the words right. It resulted that, when people did not understand what he meant, the cause generally lay with them not with him; and that, if they sometimes smiled over his mode, it was because it lay closer to nature than theirs: they would have found it a hard task to improve it.
As found in MacDonald’s “Sir Gibbie”
Being a teacher myself, my initial response to GM here - even looking beyond the edges of the tiny portion selected by Lewis - is to reflectively, and reflexively think … “Ouch!” And setting aside for the moment whatever quality of teacher I may presume myself or hope myself to be … couldn’t it at least be said of any teacher attempting to be, themselves attuned to the leading of the Spirit - shouldn’t it be said of them that “it is enough for the disciple to be like his master, and the student like his teacher?” At least in the most important core philosophies of life. Obviously today, any good teacher will hope their own students eventually far surpass them, even, in a multitude of ways - which should themselves be the well-spring bubbling up from any such worthy core.
So given how GM has written here, I’m sure he would (for any teacher, save Jesus himself) carefully circumscribe the above exhortation to mean - “like his master in his humility of recognizing his own utter dependence on the greater - that is Christ.” And that any more tightly-specified imitation beyond this begins to reflect only the non-Christlike vanity of the teacher. Or at least I hope that’s what he means. I think, by including the whole paragraph, I see a bit more what it was that GM was admiring, and in turn not admiring.