Welcome to today's Deep Dive. I am just so glad
you could join us because we have a, well, a
truly fascinating mission today. We really do.
Yeah, we're going to be exploring the wonderfully
paradoxical life of a 19th century Scottish figure.
So picture a man who had mastered over a dozen
languages. Right. A scholar. who was literally
described by his contemporaries as a breathing
library of wisdom. A breathing library. It's
a great title. It is. And you would think someone
with that kind of intellect would have left behind
just shelves and shelves of thick, dusty books.
You'd assume so. Well, he didn't. He left behind
almost no written work of his own. It's a remarkable
historical puzzle, honestly. To guide us today,
we are diving into a comprehensive Wikipedia
biographical article on John Duncan. John Duncan.
Right. He lived from 1796 to 1870. And he was
a theologian, a linguist, and a man who became
famously known to history simply as Rabbi Duncan.
And the contradictions in this man's life are
just the ultimate hook for me. We're talking
about someone who began his rigorous formal theological
studies. that is, as an outspoken atheist. Which
is wild. Exactly. How exactly does an atheist
become a revered theologian? And how does a recognized
genius, someone whose colleagues actually said
he could speak his way to the wall of China,
how does a guy like that become best known, not
for grand sweeping lectures, but simply for taking
walks in the park with his students? Okay, let's
unpack this. To really understand John Duncan,
we have to start at the beginning, which was
quite humble, especially when you consider the
towering intellect he would become. He was born
in Gilcomston, Aberdeen in 1796. He was the son
of a working class shoemaker. Okay, so very modest
beginnings. Very modest. But despite that, he
clearly possessed an extraordinary mind very
early on. He studied at Mareshaw College in the
University of Aberdeen, and he eventually earned
his Master of Arts degree. in 1814. Wow. So he
was quite young. He was. But his path forward
into theology was anything but traditional or
straightforward for that matter. That feels like
a massive understatement because when you look
at the timeline in our source, there is this
one detail that just stands out. It's wildly
relatable for anyone listening who has ever,
you know, suffered from imposter syndrome. Oh,
absolutely. Or anyone who's ever felt fundamentally
out of place in their chosen environment. Duncan
began his formal theological study while identifying
as a strict atheist. Exactly. And to understand
the weight of that, you really have to look at
the religious landscape of 19th century Scotland.
Right. This was a society where theology was
the absolute pinnacle of academic rigor. It was
intellectually demanding, highly structured,
and deeply integrated into the culture. It wasn't
just a side subject. No, not at all. Duncan pursued
the study through two different avenues. First,
the anti -burger secession church and later the
established Church of Scotland. Can we pause
on those specific church names for a second?
Sure. Because for those of us who aren't, you
know, experts in 19th century Scottish ecclesiastical
history, what do those groups actually represent?
It is an important context. So the established
church was the main state recognized church of
Scotland. OK, the mainstream one. Right. The
anti -burger secession church, on the other hand,
was part of a movement that had broken away from
the main church over disputes about how ministers
were appointed. OK. The anti -burgers in particular
were a strict faction. They basically refused
to take oaths to local town councils, believing
it compromised their spiritual independence.
Got it. So Duncan was immersing himself in some
of the most rigorous, highly debated and intensely
principled theological environments of his day.
Yes. And yet internally. He didn't believe a
word of the foundational premise. He really didn't.
It makes you wonder how we function day to day.
I mean, you are studying those profound questions
of divinity, surrounded by devout peers and instructors
who are debating the finer points of church independence.
And you're viewing it all through the lens of
atheism. Yeah. You must have treated it like
this massive philosophical puzzle. What's fascinating
here is the sheer length and methodical nature
of his intellectual and spiritual evolution.
It was not an emotional overnight revelation.
Not a sudden lightning bolt. No, it was a grueling
decade -long process of textual and philosophical
analysis. By the time he finished his formal
studies in 1821, he had shifted his worldview
from atheism to becoming a theist. Meaning he
believed in a god, but not necessarily the specific
Christian framework he was studying. Exactly.
And the timeline gets even stranger from there.
Right. Our source notes that in 1825, he was
actually licensed to preach. Right. But by his
own later admission, he still was not fully converted
to the Christian faith at that time. Which is
an incredible position to be in. Yeah. He is
authorized to deliver a message he hasn't fully
bought into. He wasn't truly converted until
1826, and that was through the ministry of a
Swiss Protestant figure named Cesar Millan. So
that was the turning point. It was. Only then
did he truly align his internal beliefs with
his external profession. He commenced his ministry
at Percy in Perthshire in 1830, moved to Glasgow
in 1831, and was finally ordained as the minister
of Milton Parish Church on April 28, 1836. Just
think about the tenacity that requires to pursue
a discipline so deeply for well over a decade
before fully believing in it yourself. I mean,
most people would just walk away when the cognitive
dissonance got too loud. They really would. But
Duncan just kept digging deeper into the original
texts and the philosophy until he found a foundation
he could actually stand on. And that intense
textual focus is what led to his absolute mastery
of languages, which brings us to a pivotal moment
in his career. This is in 1836. The chair of
Oriental Languages opened up at the University
of Glasgow, and Duncan decided to offer himself
as a candidate for the professorship. Now, when
we apply for a job today, we might pat our resume
just a little bit. Sure. Maybe we exaggerate
our proficiency in a software program. But the
application John Duncan submitted is on another
level entirely. He didn't just claim he was good
at a few languages. He formally stated that he
knew Hebrew, Syriac, Arabic, Persian, Sanskrit,
Bengali, Hindustani, and Marathi. And remember
the context of the 1830s. There are no online
courses. Right. No apps on your phone. There
are no audio tapes to practice pronunciation.
Learning Sanskrit or Marathi in Scotland meant
relying entirely on imported, highly complex
grammar books and raw texts. Just pouring over
manuscripts. Yes. But he didn't stop at just
listing those eight languages. In regard to Hebrew
literature specifically, he professed to know
essentially everything that had ever been written.
The source is very specific about this, too.
He claimed knowledge of the grammarians, the
commentators, the law books, the controversial
books, the books of ecclesiastical scholastics,
and even the bellettes. Right. And bellettes
simply refers to the fine literature and poetry
of the language. So he wasn't just claiming to
know the alphabet or the religious laws. He was
claiming to have internalized the entire cultural
artistic... It is a staggering assertion of mastery.
It has to be one of the most confident job applications
in academic history. But here's where it gets
really interesting. Despite this massive, unbelievable
flex, his application actually failed. It did.
The university passed him over for the chair.
It is a surprising twist. We don't have the exact
committee notes on why they rejected him. Perhaps
they thought he was exaggerating, or perhaps
his unconventional background worked against
him. That makes sense. The University of Glasgow
did give him an honorary LLD, a doctorate of
laws, a few years later in 1840. So it was a
clear recognition of his undeniable genius, even
if he didn't get the specific job he wanted.
But that rejection ultimately forced a pivot
that completely defined his historical legacy.
Around October of 1840, The Church of Scotland
was experiencing a surge of interest in the conversion
of the Jewish people. And Duncan, with his deep,
long -standing interest in Israel and his absolute
mastery of Hebrew, was the perfect fit. The timing
was perfect. He was appointed as the first missionary
to the Jews. from the Church of Scotland. And
this was not just a quiet administrative role.
In 1841, he actually set out for Pest, which
is part of modern -day Budapest in Hungary. Right
into the heart of Europe. Exactly. It was a major
cultural crossroads. During his mission, he had
the crucial support of the Duchess Maria Dorothea
of Württemberg. She was very sympathetic to his
cause and helped facilitate his work in the region.
And according to the historical record, his work
there was wildly impactful. Our source quotes
an author named John McLeod who wrote that, since
the days of the apostles, there is hardly on
record such a striking work of grace among the
Jews as took place in the days of his labors
in Budapest. That is an incredibly high level
of praise within theological circles. I bet.
To be compared to the era of the apostles means
his work was viewed as fundamentally transformative.
During his brief two years in Hungary, his mission
led to the conversions of some very notable figures.
Like who? Well, among them were Adolf Saffer
and Alfred Edersheim, both of whom would go on
to become highly significant theologians and
historical figures in their own right. And it
was also during this deeply immersive era that
he earned his famous moniker. He became known
affectionately to history as Rabbi Duncan. Rabbi
Duncan. It is such a striking detail. You have
a Scottish Presbyterian minister, but the title
Rabbi stuck to him for the rest of his life.
It speaks volumes about how he was perceived
by the Jewish community he was interacting with.
It wasn't a mocking nickname. It was a mark of
profound respect for his deep linguistic knowledge
and his genuine immersion in the culture. So
they really respected him. Absolutely. He wasn't
viewed as a superficial outsider coming in with
a pamphlet. He could debate the law, the commentaries,
and the poetry in their own language at the highest
possible intellectual level. That's incredible.
He eventually left Hungary in 1843, and the timing
of his return to Scotland coincided with a massive
earthquake in the National Church. Yes, a defining
event known as the Disruption of 1843. Right.
This is crucial context for the second half of
his life. The disruption was a major schism where
over 400 ministers fundamentally walked out of
the established Church of Scotland. 400? Yeah,
they gave up their incomes, their status, their
homes, all to form the Free Church of Scotland.
The core issue, much like the earlier secessions,
was about whether the state or the church had
the ultimate power to appoint ministers to local
congregations. It was a huge, defining moment
of principle. And out of this new free church
movement, they needed to establish their own
academic institutions to train new ministers.
They did. Which led to the creation of New College
in Edinburgh. And guess who they invited to fill
the chair of Hebrew and Oriental languages? John
Duncan. He finally got the academic chair he
had applied for all those years ago in Glasgow.
A redemption there. Definitely. He accepted the
position at New College and he occupied that
chair for 27 years, right up until his death.
Which brings us to the era of his life that I
find the most perplexing. This is the era of
the absent -minded Socrates. It's a great description.
You have a man whose brain is overflowing with
languages, who spent 27 years as a professor
at a major theological institution. Yet the paradox
of his output is that he wrote... Practically
nothing. It is a striking irony. Our source notes
that he edited a British edition of Edward Robinson's
Lexicon of the Greek New Testament in 1838, and
he published a few scattered lectures. But there
are no major books. Nothing. No sweeping, multi
-volume theological treatises. For a man of his
intellect in the 19th century, that is highly
unusual. The article actually includes a great
observation from Thomas Guthrie, referring to
the sheer linguistic power of Duncan and his
colleague, Alexander Black. Oh, I love this quote.
Yeah. Guthrie used to joke that those two could
speak their way to the wall of China, yet no
corresponding products of their immense learning
were ever given to the public. All of that knowledge
was contained within his mind, but he wasn't
interested in churning out publications. And
this lack of output seems deeply tied to his
very specific and somewhat eccentric personality.
How so? We have a quote from a biographer named
Sinclair, who described Duncan as being remarkably
absent -minded in regard to the common things
of life, but simultaneously intensely exercised
about the higher and eternal realities. He sounds
like the absolute archetype of the abs - That's
probably exactly what was happening. And that
intense internal focus apparently made him a
pretty terrible traditional teacher. That is
what the historical record suggests. The text
notes he was only a moderately successful theological
educator if you judge him by traditional classroom
metrics. Right, the standard metrics. His mind
was described as highly fertile, but also completely...
undisciplined he did not deliver his best work
while standing still behind lectern reading from
notes some of his contemporaries even thought
the free church would have been better off if
they just let him abandon formal lectures entirely
because his real magic his true genius as an
educator happened when he was moving yes he would
conduct walks twice a week with his students
through edinburgh's prince's street gardens he
was a peripatetic teacher teaching while walking
just like the ancient Greek philosophers. There
is a beautiful description of this from one of
his students, A. Taylor Innes. He said it seemed
as if Pascal had shuffled into the sandals of
Socrates and walked up and down Edinburgh streets.
Wow. It is a profound analogy when you unpack
it. Blaise Pascal was a brilliant, deeply introspective
mathematician and theologian who famously wrestled
with the hiddenness of God and the nature of
faith. Socrates, on the other hand, never wrote
a single word down. He just walked through the
marketplace, engaging people in relentless conversational
questioning. So Duncan was the perfect fusion
of those two historical giants. He had the deep,
tormented, hard -won theology of Pascal, but
he delivered it entirely through the street -level
conversational method of Socrates. If we connect
this to the bigger picture, it presents a fascinating
counter -narrative to how we usually measure
intellectual success. It really does. We live
in a culture of publish or perish. Whether you
are in academia striving for tenure or just existing
in the modern economy where you are expected
to constantly create visible, measurable content.
Content creation is everything now. Right. But
Duncan proves that profound, lasting impact does
not always require a massive paper trail. His
impact was deeply relational. It was transferred
directly, mind to mind, person to person on those
walks through the gardens. He didn't need to
write a book. because his students effectively
became his living books. And Duncan seemed incredibly
self -aware about this dynamic. He famously,
and quite self -deprecatingly, described himself
as being just a talker. Just a talker. But our
source is quick to point out that he possessed
a true genius for epigrammatic wisdom. epigrammatic
wisdom meaning he spoke in these brilliant dense
highly memorable sound bites and his legacy was
preserved entirely because of the students who
walked beside him they wrote it down yes one
student in particular william knight realized
the value of what he was hearing and began compiling
a book of duncan's sayings it was published under
the title colloquia peripatetica which translates
roughly to conversations while walking or deep
sea soundings right and later another edited
version of his sayings was released fittingly
called Just a Talker. The Wikipedia article provides
two specific examples of his aphorisms from that
volume, and they're brilliant case studies in
how his mind worked. Let's look at the first
quote. Duncan said, I am first a Christian, next
a Catholic, then a Calvinist, fourth a Paedo
-Baptist, and fifth a Presbyterian. I cannot
reverse this order. It is a remarkable statement
of identity, structured almost like a nesting
doll. And to fully appreciate it, we need to
understand the terms he is using. When he says
Catholic here, he means it in the original sense
of the universal worldwide body of believers,
not the specific Roman Catholic Church. God of
the lowercase c, Catholic. Exactly. As he drills
down, he identifies as a Calvinist, referencing
a specific theological framework of grace. Then
he calls himself a paedobaptist. which is a theological
term meaning he believes in the baptism of infants
rather than just consenting adults. Finally,
he arrives at Presbyterian, his specific structural
denomination. By laying it out that way, he is
showing an incredible level of intellectual honesty
and prioritization. In an era like the 19th century,
which was defined by massive sectarian splintering,
like the disruption we just talked about, he
refused to let the secondary details overshadow
the primary ones. He really did. He knew exactly
where the universal foundations lay, and he prioritized
those above the hyper -specific local debates
of his day. Exactly. The second quote the article
gives us highlights a different skill entirely.
His ability to use imagery to explain incredibly
complex debates. Duncan said, It's so good. Even
if you don't have a degree in historical theology,
the architecture of that analogy immediately
gives you a sense of the debate. But let's clarify
what those two concepts actually represent. This
is where his genius for summary really shines.
In the theological debates of his era, hyper
-Calvinism leaned heavily into the absolute sovereignty
of God and strict predestination. The idea that
God has already determined everything. Right.
Duncan is arguing that this system is like a
structurally sound house, but it has no door.
There is no room for human free will, no clear
entry point for an individual's choice. And on
the flip side, you have Arminianism. Right. Arminianism
is a theological system that places a massive
emphasis on human free will and the individual's
ability to choose or reject grace. So Duncan
describes this as being all door and no house.
It is entirely focused on the entrance, the invitation.
But in his view, it lacked the rigid, secure,
structural foundation of divine sovereignty behind
it. So what does this all mean for you listening
right now? Well, if you ever find yourself needing
to present dense information, or if you're trying
to explain a highly complicated idea to a colleague
or a friend, John Duncan is offering a masterclass.
He really is. You can apply this epigrammatic
style to your own communication. If you want
people to remember something, don't just hand
them a textbook of dry facts. Distill your complex
ideas into vivid, memorable imagery. Give them
a house and a door. Give them an anchor for their
thoughts they can hold in their mind long after
the conversation is over. It is the ultimate
tool for a teacher. He gave his students these
brilliant little mental models, which is exactly
why William Knight was able to remember them
and write them down years later. As we start
to wrap up the biographical details of Rabbi
Duncan's life, the source also reveals a deeply
human and often quite tragic side to his story
behind all the intellect. Yes. He was married
twice and he experienced profound loss. He married
his first wife, Janet Towers, in January 1837.
Tragically, she died just two years later following
the premature birth of their second child. They
did have a daughter together, Annie, who was
born in 1838. He later married for a second time
to Janet Douglas, who was a widow, but sorrow
followed him again. She also passed away before
him, dying in October of 1852. That's heartbreaking.
It is. With his second wife, he had another daughter,
Maria, born in 1842. The historical record notes
that both of his daughters eventually married
and moved abroad. John Duncan himself passed
away on February 26, 1870, at the age of 73 or
74. If you visit Edinburgh today, you can actually
find his grave. Oh, really? Yeah. He's buried
under a large, striking obelisk in the northeast
section of the Grange Cemetery. The inscription
on his tombstone captures his complex essence
beautifully. It calls him an eminent scholar
and metaphysician, a profound theologian, a man
of tender piety and of a lowly loving spirit.
The eulogies left by his contemporaries really
hammer home the profound impact of this man who
claimed to be just a talker. William Garden Blakey
praised his profound originality, deep piety,
and childlike simplicity, humility, and affectionateness.
What a tribute. Blakey noted that it was this
unique combination of massive intellect and childlike
humility that commanded the respect of every
student. And of course, William Knight, the student
who meticulously preserved his quotes, offered
perhaps the greatest tribute. Upon Duncan's death,
Knight simply remarked that with him has perished
a breathing library of wisdom. This raises an
important question, and it is a thought I want
to leave you to mull over today. We have spent
this time marveling at John Duncan's intellect,
his mastery of a dozen complex languages, his
deep reading of endless texts, his internalizing
of an entire cultural universe. In our own lives,
we all strive to master our own languages, whether
that is a technical skill, a professional discipline,
or a deep well of specialized knowledge. But
Duncan didn't build a legacy by hoarding that
knowledge or publishing dense, impenetrable books.
to prove how smart he was. He used his vast intellect
to craft simple, memorable doors for other people
to walk through. That's a great way to put it.
So think about the specialized knowledge you
have acquired in your own life. Are you building
a house with a door to actively invite others
into your understanding? Or are you just stockpiling
facts inside yourself like a closed off, unreadable
library? How are you translating what you know
into a simple walk in the park with someone else?
That is a brilliant challenge to end on. It really
shifts the focus from simply acquiring knowledge
to finding the most human way to share it. Thank
you so much for joining us on this deep dive
into the paradoxical, brilliant life of Rabbi
John Duncan. We hope you found some aha moments
today and maybe a little inspiration for your
next conversation. Keep questioning, keep seeking
out those surprising stories, and above all,
keep learning. We will catch you next time.