_SIN AND SUFFERING_
i. 8-11
The doctrinaire rigour of Judaism in its uncompromising association of
moral and physical evils has led to an unreasonable disregard for the
solid truth which lies behind this mistake. It can scarcely be said
that men are now perplexed by the problem that inspired the Book of
Job. The fall of the tower of Siloam or the blindness of a man from
his birth would not start among us the vexatious questions which were
raised in the days of our Lord. We have not accepted the Jewish theory
that the punishment of sin always overtakes the sinner in this life,
much less have we assented to the by no means necessary corollary that
all calamities are the direct penalties of the misconduct of the
sufferers, and therefore sure signs of guilt. The modern tendency is
in the opposite direction; it goes to ignore the existence of any
connection whatever between the course of the universe and human
conduct. No interference with the uniformity of the laws of nature for
retributive or disciplinary purposes can be admitted. The machinery
runs on in its grooves never deflected by any regard for our good or
bad deserts. If we dash ourselves against its wheels they will tear us
to pieces, grind us to powder; and we may reasonably consider this
treatment to be the natural punishment of our folly. But here we are
not beyond physical causation, and the drift of thought is towards
holding the belief in anything more to be a simple survival from
primitive anthropomorphic ideas of nature, a pure superstition. Is it
a pure superstition? It is time we turned to another side of the
question.
Every strong conviction that has obtained wide recognition, however
erroneous and mischievous it may be, can be traced back to the abuse
of some solid truth. It is not the case that the universe is
constructed without any regard for moral laws. Even the natural
punishment of the violation of natural laws contains a certain ethical
element. Other considerations apart, clearly it is wrong to injure
one's health or endanger one's life by rushing headlong against the
constituted order of the universe; therefore the consequences of such
conduct may be taken as signs of its condemnation. In the case of the
sufferings of the Jews lamented by our poet the calamities were not
primarily of a physical origin; they grew out of human acts--the
accompaniments of the Chaldæan invasion. When we come to the evolution
of history we are introduced to a whole world of moral forces that are
not at work in the material universe. Nebuchadnezzar did not know that
he was the instrument of a Higher Power for the chastisement of
Israel; but the corruptions of the Jews, so ruthlessly exposed by
their prophets, had undermined the national vigour which is the chief
safeguard of a state, as surely as at a later time the corruptions of
Rome opened her gates to devastating hosts of Goths and Huns. May we
not go further, and, passing beyond the region of common observation,
discover richer indications of the ethical meanings of events in the
application to them of a real faith in God? It was his profound
theism that lay at the base of the Jew's conception of temporal
retribution, crude, hard, and narrow as this was. If we believe that
God is supreme over nature and history as well as over individual
lives, we must conclude that He will use every province of His vast
dominion so as to further His righteous purposes. If the same Spirit
reigns throughout there must be a certain harmony between all parts of
His government. The mistake of the Jew was his claim to interpret the
details of this Divine administration with a sole regard for the
minute fraction of the universe that came under his own eyes, with
blank indifference to the vast realm of facts and principles of which
he could know nothing. His idea of Providence was too shortsighted,
too parochial, in every respect too small; yet it was true in so far
as it registered the conviction that there must be an ethical
character in the government of the world by a righteous God, that the
divinely ordered course of events cannot be out of all relation to
conduct.
It does not fall in with the plan of the Lamentations for this subject
to be treated so fully in these poems as it is in the stirring
exhortations of the great prophets. Yet it comes to the surface
repeatedly. In the fifth verse of the first elegy the poet attributes
the affliction of Zion to "the multitude of her transgressions"; and
he introduces the eighth verse with the clear declaration--
"Jerusalem hath grievously sinned; therefore she has become an
unclean thing."
The powerful Hebrew idiom according to which the cognate substance
follows the verb is here employed. Rendered literally, the opening
phrase is, "sinned sin." The experience of the chastisement leads to a
keen perception of the guilt that precedes it. This is more than a
consequence of the application of the accepted doctrine of the
connection of sin with suffering to a particular case. No intellectual
theory is strong enough by itself to awaken a slumbering conscience.
The logic may be faultless; and yet even though the point of the
syllogism is not evaded it will be coolly ignored. Trouble arouses a
torpid conscience in a much more direct and effectual way. In the
first place, it shatters the pride which is the chief hindrance to the
confession of sin. Then it compels reflection; it calls a halt, and
makes us look back over the path we may have been following too
heedlessly. Sometimes it seems to exercise a distinctly illuminating
influence. It is as though scales had fallen from the sufferer's eyes;
he sees all things in a new light, and some ugly facts which had been
lying at his side for years disregarded suddenly glare upon him as
horrible discoveries. Thus the "Prodigal Son" perceives that he has
sinned both against Heaven and against his father when he is in the
lowest depths of misery, not so much because he recognises a penal
character in his troubles, but more on account of the fact that he has
_come to himself_. This subjective, psychological connection between
suffering and sin is independent of any dogma of retribution; for the
ends of practical discipline it is the most important connection. We
may waive all discussion of the ancient Jewish problem, and still be
thankful to recognise the Elijah-like ministry of adversity.
The immediate effect of this vision of sin is that a new colour is
given to the picture of the desolation of Jerusalem. The image of a
miserable woman is preserved, but the dignity of the earlier scene is
missing here. Pathos and poetry gather round the picture of the
forlorn widow weeping for the loss of her children. Neglected and
humbled as she is in worldly estate, the tragic vastness of her sorrow
has exalted her to an altitude of moral sublimity. Such suffering
breaks through those barriers of conventional experience which make
many lives look mean and trivial. It is so awful that we cannot but
regard it with reverence. But all this is altered in the aspect of
Jerusalem which follows the confession of her great sin. In the
freedom of ancient language the poet ventures on an illustration that
would be regarded as too gross for modern literature. The limits of
our art exclude subjects which excite a sensation of disgust; but this
is just the sensation the author of the elegy deliberately aims at
producing. He paints a picture which is simply intended to sicken his
readers. The utter humiliation of Jerusalem is exhibited in the
unavoidable exposure of a condition which natural modesty would
conceal at any cost. Another contrast between the reserve of our
modern style and the rude bluntness of antiquity is here apparent. It
is not only that we have grown more refined in language--a very
superficial change which might be no better than the whitewashing of
sepulchres; over and above this civilising of mere manners, the effect
of Teutonic habits, strengthened by Christian sentiments, has been to
develop a respect for woman undreamed of in the old Eastern world. It
may be added that the scientific temper of recent times has taught us
that there is nothing really dishonouring in purely natural processes.
The ancient world could not distinguish between delicacy and shame. We
should regard a poor suffering woman whose modesty had been grievously
wounded with simple commiseration; the ancient Jews treated such a
person with disgust as an unclean creature, quite unable to see that
their conduct was simply brutal.
The new aspect of the misery of Jerusalem is thus set forth as one of
degradation and ignominy. The vision of sin is immediately followed by
a scene of shame. Commentators have been divided over the question
whether this picture of the humiliated woman is intended to apply to
the sin of the city or only to her misfortunes. In favour of the
former view, it may be remarked that uncleanness is distinctly
associated with moral corruption: the connection is the more
appropriate here inasmuch as a confession of sin immediately precedes.
On the other hand, the attendant circumstances point to the second
interpretation. It is the humiliation of the condition of the
sufferer, rather than that condition itself, which is dwelt upon.
Jerusalem is despised, "she sigheth," "is come down wonderfully,"
"hath no comforter," and is generally afflicted and oppressed by her
enemies. But while we are led to regard the pitiable picture as a
representation of the woful plight into which the proud city has
fallen, we cannot conclude it to be an accident that this particular
phase of her misery succeeds the mention of her great guilt. After
all, it is only the underlying guilt that can justify a verdict which
carries disgrace as well as suffering for its penalty. Even when the
judgments of men are too confused to recognise this truth with regard
to other people, it should be apparent to the conscience of the
humiliated person himself. The humiliation which follows nothing worse
than a fall into external misfortunes is but a superficial trouble,
and the consciousness of innocence can enable one to submit to it
without any sense of inward shame. The sting of contempt lies in the
miserable consciousness that it is deserved.
Thus we see the punishment of sin consisting in exposure. The exposure
which simply hurts natural modesty is acutely painful to a refined,
sensitive spirit; and yet the very dignity which it outrages is a
shield against the point of the insult. But where the exposure follows
sin this shield is absent. In that case the degradation of it is
without any mitigation. Nothing more may be necessary to constitute a
very severe punishment. When the secrets of all hearts are revealed
the very revelation will be a penal process. To lay bare the quivering
nerves of memory to the searching sunlight must be to torture the
guilty soul with inconceivable horrors. Nevertheless it is a matter
for profound thankfulness that there is no question of a surprising
revelation of the sinner's guilt being made to God at some future
time, some shocking discovery which might turn His lovingkindness into
wrath or contempt. We cannot have a firmer ground of joy and hope than
the fact that God knows everything about us, and yet loves us at our
worst, patiently waiting for repentance with His offer of unlimited
forgiveness. Exposure before God is like a surgical examination; the
hope of a cure, if it does not dispel the sense of humiliation--and
that is impossible in the case of guilt, the disgrace of which to a
healthy conscience is more intense before the holiness of God than
before the eyes of fellow-sinners--still encourages confidence.
The recognition of a moral lapse at the root of the shame of
Jerusalem, though not perhaps in the shame itself, is confirmed by a
phrase which reflects on the culpable heedlessness of the Jews. The
elegy deplores how the city has "come down wonderfully" on account of
the fact that "she remembered not her latter end." It is quite
confusing and incorrect to render this expression in the present
tense as it stands in the Authorised English Version. The poet cannot
mean that the Jews in exile and captivity have already forgotten the
recent horrors of the siege of Jerusalem. This would be flatly
contrary to the motive of the elegy, which is to give tongue to the
sufferings of the Jews flowing out of that disaster. It would be
impossible to say that the calamity that inspired the elegy was no
longer even remembered by its victims. What an anti-climax this would
be! Clearly the poet is bewailing the culpable folly of the people in
not giving a thought to the certain consequences of such a course as
they were following; a course that had been denounced by the faithful
prophets of Jehovah, who, alas! had been but voices crying in the
wilderness, unnoted, or even scouted and suppressed, like the stormy
petrels hated by sailors as birds of ill-omen. In her ease and
prosperity, her self-indulgence and sin, the doomed city had failed to
recollect what must be the end of such things. The idea of remembrance
is peculiarly apt and forcible in this connection, although it has a
relation to the future, because the Jews had been through experiences
which should have served as warnings if they had duly reflected on
them. This was not a matter for wild guesses or vague apprehensions.
Not only were there the distinct utterances of Jeremiah and his
predecessors to rouse the thoughtless; events had been speaking louder
than words. Jerusalem was already a city with a history, and that
history had even by this time accumulated some tragic lessons. These
were subjects for memory. Thus memory can become prophecy, because the
laws which are revealed in the past will govern the future. We are
none of us so wholly inexperienced but that in the knowledge of what
we have already been through we may gain wisdom to anticipate the
consequences of our present actions. The heedless person is one who
forgets, or at all events one who will not attend to his own memories.
Such recklessness is its own condemnation; it cannot plead the excuse
of ignorance.
But now it may be objected that this reference to the mere thought of
consequences suggests considerations that are too low to furnish the
reasons for the ruin of Jerusalem. Would the city have been spared if
only her inhabitants had been a little more foreseeing? It should be
observed that though mere prudence is never a very lofty virtue,
imprudence is sometimes a very serious fault. It cannot be right to be
simply reckless, to ignore all lessons of the past and fling oneself
blindly into the future. The hero who is sure that he is inspired by a
lofty motive may walk straight into the very jaws of death, and be all
the stronger for his noble indifference to his fate; but he who is no
hero, he who is not influenced by any great or unselfish ideas, has no
excuse for neglecting the warnings of common prudence. All wise
actions must be more or less guided with a view to their issues in the
future, although in the case of the best of them the aims will be pure
and unselfish. It is our prerogative to "look before and after"; and
just in proportion as we take long views do our deeds acquire gravity
and depth. Our Lord characterised the two ways by their ends. While
the example of the careless Jews is followed on all sides--and who of
us can deny that he has ever fallen into the negligence?--is it not a
little superfluous to discuss abstract, unpractical problems about a
remote altruism?
Intermingled with his painful picture of the humiliation and shame of
the fallen city, the poet supplies indications of the effect of all
this on the suffering citizens. Despised by all who had formerly
honoured her, Jerusalem sighs and longs to retire into obscurity, away
from the rude gaze of her oppressors.
In particular, two further signs of her distress are here given.
The first is _spoliation_. Her enemies have laid hands on "all her
pleasant things." It may strike us that, after the miseries just
narrated, this is but a minor trouble. Job's calamities began with the
loss of his property, and rose from this by degrees to the climax of
agony. If his first trouble had been the sudden death of all his
children, stunned by that awful blow, he would have cared little about
the fate of his flocks and herds. It is not according to the method of
the Lamentations, however, to move on to any climax. The thoughts are
set forth as they well up in the mind of the poet, now passionate and
intense, then again of a milder cast, yet altogether combining to
colour one picture of intolerable woe. But there is an aspect of this
idea of the robbery of the "pleasant things" which heightens the sense
of misery. It is another instance of the force of contrast so often
manifested in these elegies. Jerusalem had been a home of wealth and
luxury in the merry old days. But hoarded money, precious jewellery,
family heirlooms, products of art and skill, accumulated during
generations of prosperity and treated as necessaries of life--all had
been swept away in the sack of the city, and scattered among strangers
who could not prize them as they had been prized by their owners; and
now these victims of spoliation, stripped of everything, were in want
of daily bread. Even what little could be saved from the wreck they
had to give up in exchange for common food, bought dearly in the
market of necessity.
The second sign of the great distress here noted is _desecration_.
Gentiles invade the sacred precincts of the temple. Considering that
the sanctuary had been already much more effectually desecrated by the
blood-stained hands and lustful hearts of impious worshippers, such as
those "rulers of Sodom" denounced by Isaiah for "trampling" the courts
of Jehovah with their "vain oblations,"[112] we do not find it easy to
sympathise with this horror of a supposed defilement from the mere
presence of heathen persons. Yet it would be unjust to accuse the
shocked Israelites of hypocrisy. They ought to have been more
conscious of the one real corruption of sin; but we cannot add that
therefore their notions of external uncleanness were altogether
foolish and wrong. To judge the Jews of the age of the Captivity by a
standard of spirituality which few Christians have yet attained to
would be a cruel anachronism. The Syrian invasion of the temple in the
time of the Maccabees was called by a very late prophet an
"abomination of desolation,"[113] and a similar insult to be offered
to the sacred place by the Romans is described by our Lord in the same
terms.[114] All of us must be conscious at times of the sacredness of
associations. To botanise on his mother's grave may be a proof of a
man's freedom from superstition, but it cannot be taken as an
indication of the fineness of his feelings. The Israelite
exclusiveness which shunned the intrusion of foreigners simply because
they were foreigners was combined both with a patriotic anxiety to
preserve the integrity of the nation, and in some cases with a
religious dread of idolatry. It is true the nominal contamination of
the mere presence of Gentiles was generally more dreaded than the real
contagion of their corrupt examples. Still the very idea of
desecration, even when it is superficial, together with a sense of
pain at its presence, is higher than the materialism which despises it
not because this materialism has the grace to sanctify everything, but
for the opposite reason, because it counts nothing holy, because to it
all things are common and unclean.
[112] Isa. i. 10-17.
[113] Dan. xi. 31.
[114] Mark xiii. 14.
Before we pass from this portion of the elegy there is one curious
characteristic of it which calls for notice. The poet suddenly drops
the construction in the third person and writes in the first person.
This he does twice--at the end of the ninth verse, and again at the
end of the eleventh. He might be speaking in his own person, but the
language points to the personified city. Yet in each case the outburst
is quite abrupt, sprung upon us without any introductory formula.
Possibly the explanation of this anomaly must be sought in the
liturgical use for which the poem was designed. If it was to be sung
antiphonally we may conjecture that at these places a second chorus
would break in. The result would be a startling dramatic effect--as
though the city had sat listening to the lament over her woes until
the piteous tale had compelled her to break her silence and cry aloud.
In each case the cry is directed to heaven. It is an appeal to God;
and it simply prays for His attention--"Behold, O Lord," "See, O Lord,
and behold." In the first case the Divine attention is called to the
insolence of the enemy, in the second to the degradation of Jerusalem.
Still it is only an appeal for notice. Will God but look upon all this
misery? That is sufficient.