The Introduction offers a brief overview of why Wittgenstein has come to matter to contemporary literary studies and philosophical work on literature. In addition to explaining what literary Wittgensteinianism is, it provides a point of entry into the chapters of this volume by explaining the basic difference between the early and late Wittgenstein and how each has opened up novel ways of thinking about the relationship between philosophy and literature.

Genesis of the Novel

John Gibson Lockhart's novel Some Passages in the Life of Mr Adam Blair, Minister of the Gospel at Cross-Meikle was first published in February 1822 by William Blackwood in Edinburgh and T. Cadell in London. The novel was substantially revised for a second edition, which appeared in January 1824 and was also published by Blackwood and Cadell. The second edition is Lockhart's final version of the novel and serves as the copy text for the present edition, emended to correct printing errors. The second edition of 1824 was the copy text for the re-publication of the work in a volume with Lockhart’s final novel, The History of Matthew Wald (1824), in the Blackwood’sStandard Novels series, which first appeared in 1843 and was reprinted several times thereafter. The 1843 edition corrected some printing errors from the second edition but otherwise was not revised.

Adam Blair is the second of Lockhart's four novels, all published anonymously over a period of four years, 1821 to 1824. Adam Blair is widely regarded as Lockhart's best novel, and it is certainly his novel that has consistently attracted the most interest among readers— partly because of the quality of the writing, but also partly because of the daring treatment of a controversial subject. AdamBlair, set in a rural parish in the west of Scotland in the second half of the eighteenth century, is the story of a highly-respected, if somewhat naïve, Church of Scotland minister, who, several months after the death of his wife, has a sexual relationship one night with a married woman—a relationship that has tragic consequences for both Blair and his partner and that sets the course of the life of Blair’s daughter.The novel provides one of the earliest serious character studies in fiction of a minister in Scottish society, exploring the place of the minister within the community, the expectations of parishioners, the impact of the minister's indiscretion on the parish and the larger Church of Scotland organisation, and more broadly, the nature of social relationships, the challenge of balancing moral codes with human nature and desire, and the difficulty—and power—of achieving forgiveness.

MR STRAHAN, repelled in the ruffian insults with which he had ventured to harass Mrs Campbell, quitted Uigness, it may be supposed, on his return to the Low Country, in no very enviable state of feeling. He was riding rapidly, like a man capable of anything but repose,—(for the shame of detection was to him in the place of the shame of guilt, and scorn of what he conceived to be an injury done to himself, was blended with many uneasy anticipations of what he might have to suffer from the merited anger and scorn of the employer, whose trust he had so foully betrayed,)—when his notice was attracted by a boat moving, as it seemed, towards the tower he had just abandoned: And when he recognized the form of Mr Blair, it was with a fiendish, and, at the same time, a cowardly joy that he did so; for it immediately flashed upon him that the clergyman had followed Mrs Campbell thither by her invitation, and under the intoxicating influence of a guilty passion; and secure in the sense of having at least ascertained, (for so he thought he had now done,) the justice of his own and Campbell's original suspicions, he, from that moment, discarded the troublesome meditations which more directly regarded himself, and continued his journey in a mood almost as triumphant as malignant.

His surprise was great, when, on reaching the inn at which he generally staid when in Glasgow, he heard himself suddenly called to from a window looking out upon the courtyard, in a voice which could belong to no one but Campbell of Uigness himself. It was not without a considerable struggle, though brief in duration, that he contrived to smooth his brow sufficiently for entering the room in which the Captain was waiting for him; but he was relieved once more from his trepidations, when Campbell, receiving him with all his usual cordiality, said simply, “Strahan, I was astonished at not hearing from you; and besides, I thought this was a piece of business I had done wrong in devolving upon you or any man, when I was in a condition to execute it myself. So, I e’en put my foot in a vessel that was a-sailing for Leith, and here I am, so far on my way in quest of this unhappy woman.

THOSE who know what were the habitudes and feelings of the religious and virtuous peasantry of the west of Scotland half a century ago, can need little explanation of the immediate effects of the things which have been narrated in the last chapter, upon the inhabitants of Cross-Meikle. A deep and painful shock was given to every simple bosom among them, and the fall and deposition of their minister were things of which all thought, but of which very many were never heard to speak. The service of the church was, of course, suspended during a considerable series of weeks; and thus, the chief opportunity which the country people commonly had of meeting together in numbers, was taken away from them. As, however, the very particular circumstances which had attended Mr Blair's degradation, were soon as universally known as the degradation itself, there can be little difficulty in supposing, that, in spite of all the horror with which that primitive people regarded the offence of which their minister had been guilty, there gradually mingled in their feelings as to himself, a large share of commiseration—not to say of sympathy. Nor can it be doubted that the manner in which John Maxwell hesitated not to express himself whenever he was compelled to speak (and it was then only he would speak) upon the subject—venerable as this man was in years and character—exerted a very powerful influence over the minds both of those with whom he was personally intimate, and of others who heard the report of his conversation.

Meantime, there was no one in the parish who knew, or seemed to know, for a considerable time, what had become of the unhappy man himself. He had avoided being seen by any one who was acquainted with him during the evening which followed his resignation of his office; and although several made inquiry after him next day, at the place where he slept, the people of that house could tell nothing, but that he had sold his horse to the landlord, and gone off alone, and on foot, they knew not whither, at an early hour of morning.

SELDOM has the earth held a couple of human beings so happy in each other as were Mr Adam Blair and his wife. They had been united very early in love, and early in wedlock. Ten years had passed over their heads since their hands were joined together; and during all that time their heart-strings had never once vibrated in discord. Their pleasures had been the same, and these innocent; their sorrows had been all in common; and their hours of affliction had, even more than their hours of enjoyment, tended to knit them together. Of four children whom God had given them, three had been taken speedily away;—one girl only, the first pledge of their love, had been spared to them. She was now a beautiful fair-haired creature, of eight years old. In her rested the tenderness and the living delight of both; yet, often at the fall of evening would they walk out hand in hand with their bright-eyed child, and shed together tears, to her mysterious, over the small grassy mounds in the adjoining village cemetery, beneath which the lost blossoms of their affection had been buried.

Adam Blair had had his share of human suffering; but hitherto the bitter cup had always contained sweetness at the close of the draught. The oil and the balm had flowed plentifully for every wound, and his spirit was not only unbroken, but composed, happy, cheerful, “with sober cheer.” The afflictions that had been sent to him had kept him calm; and all men said that he was an humble, but none that he was a dejected Christian. What the secret errors of his spirit might have been, it is not for us to guess. But he was destined to undergo severer chastenings; and who shall doubt that there was cause enough for the uplifting of the rod of love?

After the death of the last of these three infants, Mrs Blair dried her tears, and endeavoured to attend as usual to all the duties of her household. But the serenity of her temper had been tinged with a shade of grief which she could not dispel; and although she smiled upon her husband, it was with pale lips and melancholy eyes that she did so.

MR BLAIR discharged the duty bequeathed to him by this venerable man's parting breath, amidst a numerous assemblage of the neighbouring gentry, and of the whole members of the Presbytery to which the parishes of Cambuslee and Cross-Meikle belonged. He received their salutations with modesty, but without any apparent awkwardness; and parting from them at the churchyard, walked home to his cottage.

His daughter and he were sitting together quietly by the fireside the same evening, when a knock came to the door. Sarah rose and opened it, and in a few moments, the cottage was quite filled with the same clergymen who had been present at the funeral. Mr Blair stood up to receive them; but he had not time to ask them the purpose of their visit ere the eldest of those who had come, addressed him in these words:—

“Mr Blair, your brethren have come to speak with you on a very solemn subject; but there is no occasion why your daughter should not hear what we have to say. It appears that our departed father, Dr Muir, had expressed a strong wish, that you, being reinstated in the ministry, should succeed him at Cambuslee,—and that the family who have the patronage of that parish, were exceedingly anxious that his dying request to this effect might be complied with. You, however, have declined to accede to their wishes. We, your brethren, have this day held a conference with the family at Semplehaugh; and another arrangement is now proposed to you by them through us. If Mr Jamieson becomes Minister of Cambuslee, will you return to your own old place?—Will you once more set your hand to God's work here at Cross-Meikle?”

Mr Blair's daughter turned aside and wept when she heard these words; but he himself stood for a moment in silence before them.— It was then that John Maxwell, who had been bed-rid for three years, was borne in a chair into the midst of the assembly, and said, “Mr Blair, we, the Elders of Cross-Meikle, are all present. We are all of the same mind.